Under Control
by NonMetallicMetal
Summary: I am never in control of my life. Or rather, someone always manages to screw things up for me. That's how my entire life has been. And still is I guess.
1. Under Control

**Disclaimer**** to**** Story:** This work is created by a fan, hence it being posted in this site. Original characters and storyline belong to the rightful owners of Cowboy Bebop.

Thank you for opening my story. Please take the time to read the author notes at the end of the story, but most importantly, enjoy!

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><p><strong>* * * Ch. 1 – UNDER CONTROL (The Strokes) * * *<strong>

I am never in control of my life. Or rather, someone always manages to screw things up for me. That's how my entire life has been. And still is I guess.

"Are you feeling better?"

No.

"Are you hungry?"

No.

"Well…at least you made it okay. For a second the doctor thought you were a goner. Ha, aren't you one lucky man!"

No.

No, I am not lucky. I am pitiful. This is not what I have wanted; I don't want anything more to begin with. I was done living—but this is usual isn't it? Me being torn away from what I want and shoved into whatever position others find more convenient.

I keep my eyes closed and pretend not to be awake. If anyone else walked in, they would think I'm dead. Somehow, right now, I would really like that.

The nurse comes back but since I didn't respond to him earlier, he doesn't pretend to care about how I'm feeling. I just lay there, motionless, until I hear him finally leaving the side of the bed. I don't realize, but at some point, I fall asleep. Whatever time I spend sleeping keeps me from having to fake I'm happy to be here. So, all in all, it's okay.

"Mr. Spiegel can you hear me."

I don't understand what's with male nurses. As I lazily open my eyes, my sight is out of focus and I have to blink a few times before I can see things again. To my misfortune, the first thing I notice is the face of my nurse. He'd leaned over me trying to replace my IV bag and I can see his bushy, red eyebrows relaxed over his small, grayish-blue eyes. I try to avert his gaze and instead focus on his pointy nose and thin lips. I close my eyes and hear him step back. Once he does this, I open my eyes again.

"You have a visitor," he says as he picks up the tablet from the foot of my bed. "Do you feel well enough to see him?"

No.

"The doctor wants to see how well you react to others. So I'll let him stay for a few minutes. Okay?"

I'd already expected that. Why bother responding to his question anyway?

He steps outside. I lay there looking up at the ceiling. Not that there's much to see, only white paint.

"Spike."

I turn around quickly, probably moving faster than I've been moving in a while.

"Jet," I say. But it's barely audible since the sound gets caught at the back of my tongue. I clear my throat but Jet only laughs. I say it again just to redeem myself.

I try to sit up but Jet stops me by putting his hand up. He looks around and picks up a chair near the door. He brings it closer to me and sits down. There are two other patients sleeping in the room. I suppose he doesn't want to speak too loudly and wake them up.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks.

"No," I answer.

He looks down at the ground for a minute. He clicks his tongue three times and rubs the back of his neck. He slouches on the chair and rests his arms on his legs. I don't know how much time this takes up. Since I do nothing, it feels like forever.

"How are you?" he says now.

"Augh…alive I guess."

"I figured as much…" he says. He thinks for a minute and then says, "You know, a long time ago I heard this story about a cat."

"Really?" I say without interest. Even though I have a vague idea, I don't know where he's going with this.

"Yeah…"

"What's it about?" I ask. But even if I hadn't, I'm sure he would have told me either way.

"It's just an old story. But basically, this one cat can't seem to let go of his past life."

"It sounds familiar…" I say, "But you know I hate cats."

"I know," he answers coolly. "But you know what I don't understand?"

He stops talking so I guess he wants me to respond. "What's that?"

"Cats have nine lives."

"So?"

"Isn't it stupid for him to keep living in that one since he's got another eight left? I mean, even if he loses that one he's still got seven. Damn, that cat can die eight times and still be able to live."

My wit fails me and I can't respond. And for the first time, I'm very happy to see the nurse stepping into the room. He waits a second, but seeing that neither Jet nor I are speaking, he unnecessarily clears his throat to interrupt us.

"Excuse me, that's all we can let you stay for now," he says. It's such a polite way to say 'get out.' I wonder when he perfected speaking like that.

"That's alright," Jet responds. "Well, Spike…"

He says nothing else after that and leaves the room like if he knew I had a lot of thinking to do. Damn Jet. He always does that.

The nurse looks at me bitterly. I guess he heard me actually responding to Jet. Well, it really doesn't matter as much. At four, he will be finishing up his shift and someone else will replace him. But the more I think about it, it's only two and if he has anything else for me, I'm sure it will be hell. Well…it's only two hours. And I'm already perfectly acquainted with hell anyway. Either way, I hope, that if anything, the nurse that replaces him is Kelly; the woman with the round hips and pretty blue eyes.

I put Jet's comments and the nurse's stare at the back of my mind. I turn in bed and close my eyes. Maybe by the time I wake up, it will already be past four.

I don't dream of anything other than Julia. I hate that. And every single time I see her, or rather, dream of her, I hate this even more. I wish I could stop; have a switch somewhere in my brain that I could flick and have her erased forever.

I can't even rest, even if I'm sleeping most of the time. Ironically, when my dreams turn into nightmares, I think that's when I actually get any rest. And I guess those started as soon as I gained consciousness again, but only in short intervals. It must be a little more than three week since then. I really don't know. I've been trying to forget about time.

I do sleep past four. In fact, I wake up the next day at noon. It's the weekend. I can tell because the nurse this morning is the quiet brunette. Because of that, I expect today will be another day entirely dedicated to sleeping.

"Morning," she says once she notices I'm staring at her.

I nod.

She comes over to me and starts injecting things into my arms. I'm getting really used to this part and I can't even feel the pain of the needles anymore. Which is good I guess.

After she is done, she picks up the tablet and scratches a few things on the surface with the stylus. She places it down again and slides the food table over my bed. She brings the food tray and places it on the table. She helps me sit up, even if I don't need her help anymore. She seems to be glad I'm recuperating because she's got this small smile on her face. She hides it from me, and then slides the food table closer.

"I'm not hungry," I tell her.

"I was told you didn't eat anything since lunch yesterday."

She hands me a spoon and proceeds to the next bed. I stare at the food as she goes through a similar procedure with both Walker and Jeff, the two guys who share the room with me. They're good patients: they eat all their food and answer all the questions. And they don't snore either.

I stare at the purees on the tray and dip the spoon into the one that looks less harmless. I can't even tell what it's supposed to be made out of. But I finish it. And the next one too. I'm not hungry. But it isn't like I have anything better to do.

The nurse cleans up our trays, satisfied that we all ate well, and leaves the room. I remain sitting up, something I hadn't done before. So I just sit there staring at my hands. I can tell Walker and Jeff are staring at me so I look up to meet their gazes. Walker smiles awkwardly and looks away. Jeff, who is the friendliest in the room, doesn't.

"I'm Jeff and this is Walker," he says. Walker looks back at me again and lifts his hand, slightly waving it. I already know their names though. And they already know mine, but even then, he asks "And you?"

"Spike." I don't know why I answer. Maybe I'm bored.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he starts talking to me like if he'd known me for a long time. I can't keep up with a third of the things he's saying and he barely waits or asks for me, or Walker for that matter, to comment. Still, it didn't catch me off guard when he asks how I ended up here.

"I don't know," I say. "It just happened." And I'm being honest about that.

"I hear you," Walker adds hoarsely. "Same thing happened to me. I was picking up my briefcase from the sidewalk and next thing I knew I was here, neck almost snapped." He laughs. Which is funny because by now I've figured out that there's something wrong with his voice.

His expression—his voice makes me smirk. And then suddenly I realize: I'd spent hours listening to these two. I don't know why I hadn't noticed before. Rather than doing nothing, watching or hearing others made the time pass much faster. And I need that.

That afternoon, just before visiting hours end, Walker gets a visit. By this time, however, the nurse has gotten tired of hearing Jeff talking and has asked all of us to rest. So, I'm lying in bed, pretending to be asleep again.

The visitor is a woman. I can tell because she's wearing heels, and unlike someone like Faye, who'd mastered walking silently, every step of this woman echoes in the room. After her footsteps fade, I hear her and Walker whispering for a while. Then the nurse walks in and tells her visiting hours are over. Her heels resonate on the floor again and then she's gone. As soon as the door closes, I hear Jeff whispering "Lucky." And after that, I fall asleep.

The next morning Jeff interrogates Walker. And I stay awake through the whole thing. Half the time though, I'm thinking whether Jet will show up today, hoping that he doesn't. I hadn't given his words much thought, and quite honestly, I don't feel like doing so. I know I should. But I've been so fixated with Julia for so long. If I give up on her, I feel like I betray her. The hardest thing of all though is that she really is gone now. And since she's gone—entirely—it's impossible for me not to falter and begin to give up. Still. I shouldn't be thinking like this.

"Hey, Spike!" Jeff says loudly.

I look up at him but he isn't even looking back. I follow his gaze past the frame of the door and into the hallway. There, I see our favorite nurse walking towards our room. But someone else catches my eye instead. Is Faye walking behind her?

I sit up in bed to see better; but by that time, they have already reached our room. Kelly and Faye stand next too each other. It's no wonder Faye disappeared standing behind our nurse; Kelly is easily half a foot taller. They finish speaking and then Kelly turns to see me.

"You have a visitor," she says before walking away.

Faye is still standing by the doorway. I look at her once and realize that this is a lot more awkward than I had expected. She walks into the room and stands about two feet away from my bedside. She doesn't even make eye contact with me. She looks at my arm first and follows the line of the IV until her gaze reaches the IV bag.

Suddenly, she turns to face me and my pulse freezes for a second. "Jet told me to come," she says very clearly.

"I see," I tell her. It's incredibly uncomfortable and I feel forced to continue talking. But I'm not really feeling positive so I say, "He gave up on me pretty quickly this time around, didn't he?"

"I wouldn't say that," Faye says passively. "He just went to pick Ed up…Her dad's gonna be on some long expedition and Ed said she would rather stay at the Bebop instead of following him this time…It's kind of odd really."

"What is?"

"Well, it seems that Jet's got custody of her half the time even though he's really not her father…I don't mind though."

"It gets quiet when she's not there." It's so obvious I feel stupid for having spoken at all.

But she responds, "That's why I don't mind."

Then, Faye sighs gently. I can smell the nicotine lingering on her breath and skin. And since I haven't smoked in what seems like forever, I have the strong urge of pulling her down and licking her all over.

"The nurse told me you're doing well," she says after a few seconds of silence.

"I guess," I answer hastily, looking down and staring at the needle in my arm while trying to dismiss my previous idea.

The needle is itching.

Why hadn't I noticed before? I look up at the doorway and I see Kelly walking in to check on the other two. She comes to me next and asks if I'm fine. "My arm itches," I say pointing at the spot where the needle is inserted.

"I'll take a look at it," she says.

Faye's in her way, but she steps back before the nurse even asks her to. Faye moves to the foot of the bed and says, "Well, I'm going."

She turns to leave but Kelly says, "It's alright, this won't take long. You can stay longer."

Faye looks at me then watches as the needle is removed from my arm. Her face distorts a little at the sight. Since I'm used to it now, I don't have any reaction, not even when the new needle is being inserted.

"It's okay," she says to the nurse. Then, she turns to me again and says, "I'll tell Jet I came by."

She doesn't say goodbye or anything. She walks out of the room as casually as she'd come in. And that's the end of it.

The nurse watches her leave and stares back at me as if blaming me for having done something wrong. I don't see why she cares. It's not like Faye and I were having an actual conversation to begin. But as far as Kelly is concerned, she's definitely lost her spot on my list of favorite nurses and is being replaced by the quiet brunette whose name I can't pronounce.

As Kelly begins to leave, I wonder what Jeff and Walker will ask. Jeff looks at Walker then at me. "This is not fair," he says bitterly, "I want a girlfriend too." I'm about to interrupt him to let him know Faye and I are nothing when he says, "Even that old guy that visited you has a pretty girl."

"Pretty?" Walker cuts in with his weird voice, "She made me reconsider my ten-year relationship with Carla…And Carla is pretty."

I should laugh. But somehow I really don't feel like it. What would Jet and Faye say if they were here?

Soon, Jeff and Walker begin arguing whether or not Faye and Jet are in a relationship, without even bothering to question me about it. I listen to them shortly before I realize that I'm interrogation free. Just to make sure it's kept that way, I turn in bed and go to sleep before they notice I'm no longer paying attention.

Several weeks pass, and after seeing Faye that once, Jet becomes my only visitor. It's fine this way though. This is better.

However, the longer I stay here, the more unbearable it becomes, especially after Jeff's release. I force myself to sleep and take forever doing whatever activity can take up time. When I have nothing to do, I sit there counting my pulse. It gets to a point past pathetic. Thankfully though, this helps enough to keep me busy until my release day.

By the time it comes, I can't stand this place anymore. I guess Jet also knows this because he arrives very early in the morning. We manage to take care of the paperwork quickly and are ready to leave by nine-thirty. Walker, who's still got a little longer, says goodbye. Kelly is there too, but I kind of ignore her. Then, Jet and I walk out of the hospital.

It's a bad day. It's cloudy and stuffy and it looks like it will start raining soon. But I'm so relieved to be out of the hospital's white walls that it doesn't seem as bad as it should. As we walk down the steps of the hospital, I notice water marks punching into the concrete. After a few seconds, I look up and watch the water start pouring. And I can hear her. I can hear her voice in the rain. And all I can think is: I don't want to be here.

*** * * Ch. 1 End, Continued on Ch. 2 * * ***

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><p><strong>Updates:<strong> If all goes as planned, this story should be updated on a weekly basis. (I've finished writing all but the last chapter; all I need to do is proofread the existing chapters.)

**About**** the ****titles:** It was incredibly hard for me to come up with appropriate names for the chapters. My plan was for them to be song names, but I didn't realize it would be so hard to write first then try and find a song that suited the chapter. Thankfully, I was able to find a suitable song for each chapter without having to rewrite anything. But let me tell you, it was fun whenever a song played and I realized it would be perfect for the story. Knowing that, each chapter title is a song name and in parenthesis is the band/artist name. I encourage you guys to listen to those songs. Apart from being great, they definitely set the mood for the story.

**Interesting**** fact:** For those of you who have read "Crazy," you might find it interesting to know that I wrote this as a self-response to that story…

Please review and keep an eye out for the next chapter.

See you soon cowboys!


	2. Nothing To Say

Here is chapter two, please enjoy! (Author's notes at end.)

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><p><strong>* * * Ch. 2 – NOTHING TO SAY (Soundgarden) * * *<strong>

I can't get Ed's arms pried off from around me. As soon as I had stepped through the entrance of the Bebop, she had come running towards me and latched herself onto my waist. Faye is standing nearby. She's silently leaning against the wall, her arms slightly crossed, holding a cigarette in her hand. I stare at her hoping she'll get Ed to go with her or something. But she doesn't do anything at all.

Jet had stayed behind to check on some rusting sheets on the upper deck, so I stand there, just barely inside the door, waiting for him to come in and pry Ed off. As soon as the door opens I say, "You know how I feel about children." But Jet seems amused by the sight.

"That's enough," he says to Ed, but not at all demandingly.

"Okay!" she responds while simultaneously taking her arms away from me. Ed grins at me really big and says, "Spike-person's okay now?"

"Yeah," I say, relieved to have her off, "Everything is fine." I thought I'd feel bad for lying. But she seems satisfied by my answer so I feel no guilt at all.

"C'mon," Faye finally says, shifting her weight away from the wall, "let's go finish my nails."

Ed follows her like a loyal puppy. As soon as Faye turns to leave, Ed is right beside her. Ein is there too. He's staring at me. But when Faye and Ed are out of sight, he dashes away behind them.

Jet and I go to the living room. It seems nothing has changed. The yellow couch is still waiting for me and there's this odd sense of tranquility. Jet and I just sit without saying a word.

I don't mind this. However, I wish Jet and Faye would act a bit more like Ed sometimes. I'm back. And yet, they treat me indifferently. This I expect from Jet. But not from Faye too. I don't know what exactly she's trying to get out of acting like that. And it's not a bad thing necessarily. It's just that it makes me feel like they've got me completely figured out. That's the issue.

At some point I fall asleep. I don't know how much time passes, but by two-something, I'm woken up by Faye's voice. Jet's sitting across from me halfway reading and halfway nodding away. He shakes his head a bit and turns to her. I'd lain down on the couch, but as she approaches, I sit up. The first thing I notice is the soft smell of perfume. Then, I see she's all dressed up.

"Jet," Faye says holding a compact mirror closely to her face as she fixes her lipstick.

"What is it?" Jet says, shaking his head awake.

"Tyler. He just called me."

"The banker?" Jet asks.

"No," she says closing the mirror, "that's Taylor. Tyler's the stockbroker…He asked me to stay with him a while longer for some last minute thing. It's only one more day, but that throws off the plans we had for Friday."

Jet stretches his arms as he yawns, "Don't worry about it. I'll figure something out."

"I'm leaving then," she says turning away.

I feel completely lost. I try not to let it bother me; I figure that I'll eventually get the hang of what's going on around here. Though it's easier to think that than uphold it, I still won't ask.

Jet glances at me and sets the magazine down on the table. He says, "Well, I guess the best thing to do would be to stay here a week longer." I don't say anything but Jet continues, "We've been trying to catch this one bounty, John Tarbell. He goes around in cycles. Every Friday he'll go to the same bar to meet up with one of his men and catch up on what's going on in his district…that's the easiest place to catch him. But since Faye won't be back by then..."

"Can't I take care of it?" I say.

Jet stares at me with this odd look on his face. "You've just gotten out of the hospital. Besides, this guy is promiscuous as hell...If you're really up for it, you can help out when Faye's back."

And so I wait.

The next time I see Faye, a week has already passed. I'm sitting in the same spot as before and she's taken Jet's seat. Ed had been working on the coffee table, but after a few minutes, she passes out and falls asleep on the floor.

Faye doesn't say anything. And I don't either. I don't know whether we're trying to be quiet so as not to wake Ed up, or if we honestly don't have anything to say to each other.

Faye is filing her nails. Sometimes, I glance over at her and watch her slide the file monotonously. I don't think she likes it, so I keep doing it just to piss her off. After a while though, I'm the one who begins feeling irritated. For some reason, I can't elicit anything from her. Instead of putting myself in a worse mood, I close my eyes and lean back on the couch.

By the time Friday comes, I've figured out that Faye's giving me the silent treatment. Sometimes it's funny because I can tell she really wants to tell me something and she'll have to force herself not to. It's not so hard to figure out. She'll look at me, but then she'll blink and turn away just slightly biting her bottom lip.

Yeah, it annoys the shit out of me.

But I know it won't last. Not today. I know that today she'll have to communicate with me sooner or later. Or otherwise, there's a chance that we'll lose the bounty. It's a good deal, so I know she won't keep up with this juvenile scam.

After we're all ready to go, we head to the bar. It's a pretty underground place in the outskirts of the city. It's falling down in places and it's not really much of a bar as it is a motel. The red neon of the sign makes the walls look sickly. The windows are all closed, but even then, the curtains are so sheer that the yellow light of the rooms escapes through. There's quite a bit of people around, so none of us will stand out.

It doesn't take us long to get in place. Jet stays outside near the back exit in case our original plan doesn't work and Tarbell tries to get away. Since people like Tarbell rarely use the front entrance, we don't have anyone guarding the area. The place has no visual security so Ed's hacked into the cameras from the building across and she'll let us know if for some reason he changes his pattern. From there it's simple.

Faye and I actually have to get inside. We stand in line several feet away from each other and wait. Faye get's into the place quickly. But with the clothes she's wearing, I didn't expect anything less. To her disadvantage, she can't hide any weapon and has to rely on me to take care of her. However, since I'm supposed to be one of those customers with no life dragged into the place by lustful fantasies, I have to stand in line several minutes after Faye's already inside before they let me in.

As soon as I'm allowed into the place, I walk around the premises to get a better idea of what the situation really is like. There are more people than we had expected. The rooms and halls are hot and humid with breath. The smoke is thick and it's hard to breathe. Walking is difficult and I have to force my way around the building. It feels like hours of digging through the crowd until I finally find Faye. My job is to keep a close eye on her, but I can't get too close because all the tables near her and Tarbell, whom I'm surprised she's already with, are taken up. Instead, I stand as close as I can and pretend to be waiting for someone.

Faye and Tarbell are not alone at the table. He has two men, probably twice my size, standing around them. I can only see Faye once in a while, so whatever signals we'd used in the past have become entirely futile. But while I can't see Faye, I can see Tarbell clearly enough, so I decide to read him instead. He's slouching back on his chair, his left arm barely resting on the table. He's got chin length and wavy, dark brown hair that covers most of his face, but from time to time I can see his gaze. He's got this piercing look and his eyes are continuously shifting. From what I can see, it's not hard to tell he wants to tear off Faye's clothes.

When I see him standing up, I move back a little, so as to make sure they don't see me. I watch them head out of the bar and onto the lobby. I don't see Faye's face, but she's latched onto the arm of Tarbell, pressing her body closely against his. He's a bit shorter than I am. I can tell because their shoulders almost match like hers and mine do when we stand next to each other.

I don't follow them into the lobby immediately, but I do see them heading upstairs while the two big guys are left behind in the bar. I have to wait, but eventually I also enter the lobby. I keep a close eye on the clock hanging above the front desk while waiting for the ten planned minutes to pass. It's odd to just stand there, so I light up a smoke. By the time the clock is marking the last minute, I stare at the changing digits while finishing up the rest of my second cigarette.

I wait for the time to change before going upstairs. The motel only has three floors, with about twenty rooms each. I walk through the halls quickly trying to identify the room where Faye and Tarbell are, hoping Faye was smart enough to leave some sort of sign. Meanwhile, Ed is hacking the system to see if she can figure out the room before I do by searching through the room log.

Fortunately, when I reach the second floor, I know I've found them. One of the doors near the end of the hall has a red lipstick mark on the frame. It's a slightly s-shaped smudge and it's exactly the color of Faye's lipstick. Clever, I have to admit. A second later, Ed sends me a message with the number, confirming that I've found the right room.

I stand there for a little while and look around. I watch as a couple enters a nearby room and then I'm the only person standing in the hallway. If I hear past the bodily sounds emanating from the rooms. It's quiet.

A woman screams at the end of the hall and I become aware of how loud it really is. I shake the noises out of my head and pull out my gun. I grab the doorknob and as I lean closer to force the door open, I can hear all the noises again. The shaking legs of the bed, the rustling of sheets, the heaving breaths. I force myself to ignore everything and shove my body against the door. The lock breaks easily and I instinctively point the gun at the bed.

I see dull white sheets and flushed skin; bodies covered in sweat and tightly pressed together. Faye and Tarbell moving forcefully. His hands are aggressively grasping her arms and he's trying hard to push her back firmly onto the mattress. It takes just a second for me to realize that Faye's arms are wrapped around Tarbell's neck. She's choking him. I know this because her arms are too tight and positioned around him very tactically for it to be a gesture of passion.

"What the hell are you waiting for!" Faye tells me through her gritted teeth and short breath.

I close the door without turning around. It's the most inconvenient of places, but I smirk, noticing she's broken her vow of silence. Realizing this, she glares at me and tightens her arms around Tarbell. I feel bumps spreading over my back; it feels as if it's me she's choking. A second after, Tarbell's body goes limp.

His head falls on the nape of Faye's neck and his body collapses directly onto her. She grunts at the sudden imposition of his weight. The shaking of the bed stops. Faye breathes deeply. I notice her blushed arms still around Tarbell's neck. I walk closer to the bed and move one of her wrists away from him. Her skin is hot. She jerks her hand away from me and lifts the other away from Tarbell. I stare at my hand; it's moist and warm with sweat. I hesitate but wipe the sensation away by drying my palm against one of the pillows.

"Get him off," Faye orders me quietly. She's grabbed a hold of one of the sheets, moving it in between her and Tarbell. I pick the guy up by the shoulders and grimace at the feel of his skin.

"This was some great idea," I say languidly.

"He's worth more if he's not injured," Faye responds nonchalantly.

As I move Tarbell further away from her, Faye continues to carefully fix the sheet around her. The fabric is thin and she's covered in sweat. Regardless of her intentions, there is still enough of her left exposed.

"You two were in a hurry, weren't you? You should have said five instead of ten minutes," I say, curious to see if she would continue speaking to me.

Faye doesn't respond. She gets out of the bed and collects her clothes before shutting herself in the bathroom.

"Hurry up." I tell her…Nothing.

I'm left with the unpleasant duty of dressing Tarbell. I rush through it and don't even bother to button up his shirt. I open one of his eyelids to make sure he's unconscious. Sure enough, his eyes are rolled back. I hear the click of a door and turn quickly. But it's only Faye who'd stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed, though her clothes cling to her skin even more now that her body is damp.

"Let's go," she tells me, not so much as an order but as a comment.

I swing Tarbell's arm over my shoulder and lift him off from the bed. He's still warm and sweaty. It feels disgusting. Faye goes to the door and looks outside; after another couple enters their room, she waves me to go on ahead.

The halls are empty and it's not until we step into the elevator that I begin to worry. I ask Faye where the two guards are and she says that she doesn't know but that Tarbell ordered them to go away for twenty minutes. Given that, we have about five minutes, give-or-take, before the guards start looking for their boss.

The elevator door opens and, to move faster, Faye mimics me and places one of Tarbell's arms over her shoulders, the other around his waist just underneath mine. When we step out, other than a few more couples asking for keys to the upstairs rooms, the lobby is pretty much covered in loiterers. Some of the people are passed out on the chairs or the corners of the room; others talk for a while before returning to the bar. Even though Tarbell is completely unconscious, no one really takes notice of us. I suppose given the amount of drinking that went around in the place, Tarbell just seems to be another one of those poor drunken bastards who's happened to pass out. Everything goes fine, but as we're digging our way toward the exit, our fortune runs out.

"Faye," I say quickly, shifting my glance towards the guards who, while searching, still haven't spotted us.

Faye doesn't say anything, but she pick up more of Tarbell's weight. We struggle to reach the door and manage to make it out. Faye holds the door open, while still helping me with Tarbell's weight. We continue to walk away and hasten our pace. From the last window, I see the guards are forcing their way outside as well.

Faye pulls out her communicator and calls Jet. "We got him…No, they just figured it out…Okay." She hangs up and then says, "This way."

I follow her as we walk to the first alley away from the bar. I look back a few times. We sneak into the alley and the guards haven't made it outside yet. Jet's already there, and I can see that Faye's ship is parked just on the other side of the street on the parking lot of an out-of-business Laundromat.

"Hand him to me," he says, "and distract those two while I get him away from here."

We don't answer him, but do as we're told. After Jet takes the guy away from us, we walk out into the main street again, finally seeing the guards on the street. We turn in the opposite direction of the alley to get some distance from Jet.

Faye sighs. I look at her. She tells herself more than me, "And I just fixed my nails."

I say carelessly, "What? You think you can take care of them just by talking." What I mean to be sarcasm doesn't sound quite that way; and a fraction too late, I realize that I've just dared her instead.

"I guess," she says with this mischievous smile on her face.

I nearly flinch when she reaches out for me. She innocently takes me by the arm and places it around her shoulders, actually, it's like she'd held Tarbell moments before. I honestly can't understand what's with her today. She'll talk to me, and then she won't. She doesn't let me touch her, but here she is touching me. If I think about it too much, I'm sure that I'll realize I'm at a disadvantage.

It's not the first time my arm is around Faye like this, and even though it feels momentarily awkward because of what happened months before, I don't tell her anything about it and the feeling fades away quickly. Strangely enough, in all of this, I realize that I'm right; Tarbell really is just a bit shorter than I am.

We continue walking, even when the guards are only a block away. When we've reached the end of the block, Faye and I stop under the light of the street corner. While we wait for the guards to catch up, I let some of my weight fall on Faye's shoulders just to see how she'll react. She looks at me casually and doesn't say anything. Since it doesn't seem to bother her, I don't move. It's more comfortable to wait this way anyway.

The steps of the guards are very close, but even before reaching us, the taller of the guards yells, "Where's Tarbell you bitch!"

"I think he's asking you," Faye whispers to me.

I don't get a chance to retort because, as we turn to face them, the guard has reached us and has thrown his right fist in our direction. I jerk myself away from Faye, pushing her away from the man's range. However, it isn't necessary. Before the man is able to get close enough, the second guard has taken a hold of his arm.

"Where's Tarbell?" the same guy asks again as his comrade releases him.

"I don't know," Faye says. "I've been with this guy." And as if to make her point, she moves close to me again.

I hear the clicking of a gun.

"Where is he?" asks the first guard more demandingly, I presume feeling more secure wielding a gun.

"I don't know," Faye repeats sounding annoyed. "Look, he must have been in a hurry to get somewhere or really was just too quick. Either way, we barely lasted five minutes in the room."

One of the two must have been true because the second guard says to his comrade, "Shit. You sure he wasn't getting the cargo from Felicia already?"

The first says, "I told you, I saw this bitch carrying him out."

"Do you see him here!" The second says slapping the other's back. "All you saw was these two clinging to each other."

The two continue to argue, until they become completely distracted from Faye and me. I give her a quick glance and she steps away to give me room. I haven't fought with anyone in a while but I'm reckless enough not to care. I give a swift kick to the guard's hand holding the gun. It's tight on his grip, but the kick is strong enough to make him drop it. The guard besides him has no time to react. Faye, apparently forgetting her manicured nails, lounges at him. Even before my foot lands completely, I've already twisted my torso and built up the force for my second kick. I hit the guard's abdomen the second time around and knock enough air out of him to make him stumble. It gives me just enough time to think: I need to protect Faye.

I pull my gun and prepare to shoot the guard who is attacking her. But they're both light on their feet and I can't get a clear shot. The guard I had kicked finally gets enough force in his legs and speeds towards me. I barely have enough time to jump out of his way. But I do. And as he moves past, I shove him forward as hard as I can. But I'm not looking at him anymore. As I push him, I see an opening to shoot and I don't think about it.

My hold is firm on the trigger. The gun's blast gives my ears a familiar pain. I can't see Faye's face. I want her to turn around. I force myself to loosen my grip on the trigger and face my opponent. The guard is scrambling to get on his feet. Running away. Since he did, I pull back the trigger one more time and he falls to the floor again. He grips his left leg. Rolling on the floor. Smearing his clothes with blood. Screaming with pain.

Suddenly, I notice my heart beat running wildly. "Faye," I say.

I turn to find her on her knees next to the body of the guard who'd attacked her. He's curled into the fetal position, clutching his shoulder and moaning. She's looking at him and he's staring right back with wide eyes. It annoys me that she doesn't move. I walk closer to her and say her name again.

"Hey, say something," I tell her.

She turns around and looks at me with the second-worst expression I've seen on her face. "What do you want me to say? Thanks for nearly blowing my head off," she does this weird face revealing her displeasure and then says, "I knew you'd fire, but I didn't expect it then."

"I didn't feel like wasting time," I say. But she's right. There really wasn't any need for me to shoot just yet. Not both of them either. "Let's go, someone is sure to show up soon."

I put my hand out to help her up. She pretends not to notice my gesture and stands up by herself. She stretches her legs to give a step and the heel of her foot lands awkwardly on the ground. I look down hearing the odd noise and notice the heel of her right shoe is broken off, barely dangling from the sole.

"Great…" she says aggravated, "Either you or Jet are paying for these." She walks over to the curb of the street and kicks the heels completely off of both her shoes. She takes a deep breath and turns to me. When her eyes lock mine, we begin to run away.

We run for a long time, but then, Faye begins to lag behind. I should have expected it. I bet she's tired and just wants to stop now. But she doesn't. A few minutes later, and since we're running downhill, I can see part of the Bebop. It's parked just about three blocks away. I can keep running, but I slow down and eventually walk. Faye doesn't stop until she's right there besides me.

A police car goes by, closely followed by an ambulance. Faye and I continue to walk. When we reach the second block, we see clothes being flung out a window. And then people shouting.

"Let me explain Darlene!" says a man.

"There's no explaining left for you to do! So just fuck off!" A woman, her voice slightly breaking.

"It was just one slip babe. I promise it won't happen again. You know I only have eyes for you, baby! C'mon baby. You're the most important one for me!"

"Save it, Josh! You might as well just go fuck her again!"

Faye and I stop. We glance at each other and continue to walk as slow as possible, hesitant to do much since now we can see the couple's faces. Though they still haven't noticed us, it's still very awkward. As we get nearer, I'm unsure of whether I want to stop before reaching them or if I should rush past instead.

"But baby," Josh pleads, "We have plans. Remember. We're gonna have two kids and buy a two-story home that we don't have to share with some other family. Baby, please remember all our dreams!"

Somehow, I feel my heart weighing down. And I can't hear anything. I swallow hard and the motion manages to unplugs my ears.

"That's just it," Darlene says calmly. "They're called dreams for a fucking reason."

"No, baby," Josh insists, his voice low, "don't be that way."

Then, Darlene glances at us for the first time; Josh sees this and turns to us as well. I avert their eyes and Faye and I step down from the sidewalk, walking quickly past them over the road. It's become uncomfortably quiet. However, a few feet after Faye and I step onto the sidewalk again, Darlene and Josh pick up their quarrel.

"I can't do this anymore," Darlene says pleasantly. "Josh, what we had was only a dream. It was good while it lasted. But neither of us can keep living off of fucking dreams."

I hate it.

I can't hear anything again. My thoughts are running wildly in my mind, seeking for a way to escape. I glance at Faye who is apparently unaffected. There are all these words that want to spill out of my mouth. And I think. I feel like telling her everything. I don't know why, but I want to talk to her like months ago, tell her what's on my mind and not give a damn of what comes from it. I want to tell her everything because I've already broken that barrier between us once.

She stares blankly back at me. "What?" She says completely devoid of emotion. And somehow that's the only thing I can hear.

Then, I remember her face before I left that once. The words continue to thicken in my throat and I can feel them filling my mouth. I try to swallow, but can't. I'm being an idiot. I can't tell her anything. I shake my head no and she turns away. But the words are still there and I have to bite my lips to keep them from spilling.

I'm being foolish. I know it. I'm acting just like Faye. I hate it. I had been wrong—am wrong. She was never giving me the silent treatment. There may be things to be said, but that doesn't matter. None of that matters. The fact is…Faye and I simply don't have anything to say to each other.

*** * * Ch. 2 End, Continued on Ch. 3 * * ***

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><p><strong>Updates:<strong> The next chapter should be up by next Friday at around the same time.

**About**** the**** titles:** This one was a hard title to find. Initially, it was going to be Silent Treatment (Bangles) but I didn't think the song fit.

**Interesting ****fact:** I had a problem trying to figure out what amount of cursing would be appropriate for the whole story, but I began to realize how much of an issue it would be in this chapter. Anytime there was a curse word, I kind of had a debate with myself, so it's not like I was just writing curse words to write them. Some may argue that there is too much cursing, but I seriously thought about it and decided to use curse words only as I saw fit. In any case, it's rated M for more than one reason…

_Please review and keep an eye out for the next chapter._


	3. Is There A Ghost

Here's the update, please enjoy!

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><p><strong>* * * Ch. 3 – IS THERE A GHOST? (Band of Horses) * * *<strong>

Tarbell ended up being just what the Bebop needed. Jet was able to purchase some parts for the ship; Ed upgraded her computer; and I got to buy the good kind of cigarettes. I don't know what exactly Faye got out of it. New shoes is my best guess, but who knows.

Haven gotten to work together again really helped us to get true normalcy back. It's not there completely, but it is significantly less strained. Everything still isn't right. And it's impossible for it to be. Jet still continues to talk about those stupid cats. Ed refuses to say the word July. Faye. Well, Faye is Faye. I can't figure out what she's thinking most of the time now, so I just give up on it.

The only time I really know what she's thinking is when she talks to Jet. Like right now, I can hear them chatting from the room next door. I bet they think that I'm still sleeping. And I had been at one point, but Ein woke me up and it's inevitable for me not to hear them now.

"I think that it's just better if we didn't have to work together," Faye tells Jet. "You know how things go. Just last time. He…I—"

Jet snickers quietly. "Things went fine Faye," he responds. "Is that what bothers you?"

Faye doesn't answer.

"…Those things. Just give them time. They're bound to get better for you."

"It's easy for you to say that!" Faye says, probably louder than she had intended because there is a sudden second of silence and then she mumbles something ending with "after him like an idiot."

"That…it doesn't make you the idiot," Jet says very clearly, as if trying to make sure she understood it well.

"I know that now," Faye answers shortly.

It doesn't surprise me. But actually hearing it, I can't help but feel guilty…I guess it's human for me to feel this way. Although, it's not like the feeling eats me. I may feel guilty. But it's nothing compared to the urge I had to follow back then. And to be honest, I still feel that urge, and it's still stronger than the guilt…even if it's completely useless now.

I sit up quietly and pick up my coat from the arm of the couch. I walk out of the room and leave the Bebop to roam around in the streets. I don't return until the remorse has faded and by the next morning, what I have heard has already sunk in and it doesn't bother me anymore. All I have left again is Julia.

I lay in bed although it's already past ten in the morning. I can't sleep at all, so I'm hoping that somehow just resting my body will be enough. My eyes feel so tired. I lay my arm over them to force myself to keep them shut. Rather than helping any though, my mind starts to wander again. It seems all I can do is think. But I just want to sleep.

As I lay there, I remember her over and over. And I remember how we kissed and how we touched and...I'm so tired.

I wish I could forget her. I wish that I wasn't here. I just…wish that I could sleep.

For days, no matter how much I wish and hope, nothing ever changes and I'm still tired. Then, a wonderful thing happens: I can't sleep but I'm not awake either. I enter a strange state of insomnia that manages to keep me going. Because of it, I can continue thinking about her while simultaneously doing everything else that I need to take care off.

I live like this for over two years.

But before I realize it, I can't remember her like I used to anymore. Regardless of how much time I'd spent trying to assure I didn't forget her. I can feel her slowly fading away from me, like she's a ghost that's became bored of haunting me.

To make things worse, all the advice I've ever been given comes back to me whether I want it or not. See the glass half full, not half empty. Don't cry over spilt milk. Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Everyone's advice: my mother's, the stranger's from the liquor store, and, of course, Jet's.

I've never completely listened to anything they've said. But now, it all seems to make sense. I should have listened to my mother when she told me to make something of myself. I should have listened to that stranger about the hangover I would get if I bought that cheap bottle. I should have listened to Jet and his stupid cats.

But. The thing with advice is that it never really helps like you want it to. It never makes you feel any better or continues to give you hope. It never changes anything. No matter how much you take all that stupid advice, no matter how much you mull things over trying to apply it, by the end of the day that pit in the bottom of your stomach is still there. Your chest still feels cold and there is nothing you can do to change the feeling.

That's what advice does. It makes you realize that there is nothing you can do to change what has happened. It doesn't make you feel any better. It takes every hope or thought and then breaks it down to nothing.

Advice tells you that you're wrong.

It shoves your face so hard into reality that it's impossible to continue ignoring it. And when you admit reality, that's when advice really kicks in. By accepting what has transpired, you accept that you're wrong.

I can't change what has happened. I can't go back. There's nothing I can do now.

Before I realize it, I can't continue thinking that what I've so strongly believed is right. I'm wrong. That's all there is to it. What I've been doing. How I've been thinking. It's all wrong. And I can't go back.

My mother was right. That stranger was right. Jet is right.

Time really does have a way of changing things. I thought I'd be immune to it, advice or time, whatever it is that is responsible for this change. But I'm not. No matter how hard I try to continue keeping my feelings alive–I'm wrong.

Reaching this mindset, it's not a pleasant thing. I have no purpose so it feels like a waste to even be alive. It's like I'm being cheated out of something. But I don't know exactly what that something is. And I'm not sure whether I want to find it again or not.

This way of thinking seems to have only one redeeming quality: sleep.

I'm sitting on the yellow couch looking through some bounty reports. I take a drag out of my cigarette and flip a page. Faye walks through as if looking for something. I flip another page. Another drag.

The words on the sheets start to blur. I rest myself on the arm of the couch and support my head with the palm of my hand. I've read through a paragraph, but I don't remember anything of it so I look through it again. My eyelids feel heavy. The words turn into a gray mass spread over the sheets and I can't even make them out anymore. I blink trying to get some focus back, but I…

"Fuck!" I say jolting awake.

I shake the butt of the cigarette away from my burning hand. Drop the bounty reports on the ground. And quickly stand up to step on the cigarette.

The knuckles of my hand sting. I stare at the burns on the side of my two smoking fingers and curse again. The pain only seems to increase as I look at the wound. Instinctively, I place the burns against my lips. After a few seconds and a few more curses, the hurting becomes commonplace and I kneel down to pick up the sheets from the floor. I sit down again and try to organize the papers.

"Have you seen my purse?" Faye asks walking into the living room.

"What?" I say, my fingers still against my lips.

She looks at me oddly. "My silver purse…I can't find it. Have you seen it?" she asks again.

"It's in the kitchen," I say flatly while continuing to collate the papers.

"That's right…" she mumbles and starts to walk away.

I face her as she moves and notice that today she's opted to wear her dark blue dress. Her hair is pinned up and her skin is bare from the base of her hair to her lower back. I call her and she turns around. The dark neckline of her dress makes her skin look nearly translucent.

"It's by the toaster," I tell her.

"What's it doing there?" she says.

"How should I know?" I respond, "It's your purse after all."

As she leaves, I think I see a small imperfection on her skin. Just where her collarbone meets her shoulder, there's a suck mark. Is she aware of that? I wonder, did it come from the same guy she's seeing tonight, or is it from someone different. The longer I wonder, the more I realize that I shouldn't have noticed.

My fingers sting but I feel like smoking just the same. I place the bounty reports down on the coffee table and, just as I do that, Ed comes from the kitchen carrying a large bowl of dry cereal on her head. She sits it down besides the papers and takes a handful of the bright shapes into her mouth. She turns on her computer as she tries to chew and swallow.

"Is Jet back?" I ask her.

She tries to answer, but the cereal in her mouth prevents anything but a colorful powder to come out of her lips. Instead, she just shakes her head no.

I make my way out to the deck of the Bebop. Maybe if I smoke standing up, I won't fall asleep. The sky is turning darker. It must be around seven.

I've resorted to seeing what others do to make time pass a little faster and a little more eventful. It keeps me momentarily distracted from my problems, and more importantly, it keeps me from going mad out of boredom.

It's a calm afternoon. There a few people walking about, but for the most part, nothing much happens. A black car stops nearby. The motor on it keeps running and no one steps out. It stays there for nearly five minutes and nothing changes.

Having appeased my nicotine urge, I decide to head inside again. I enter the ship just as Faye is walking out. I catch a glimpse of her shoulder and notice that there was no mark there anymore. Had I been hallucinating? I don't let it bother me and we walk past each other nearly ignoring that the other exists.

There is nothing to eat for dinner but dry cereal or ramen. I don't really feel hungry, but I know I should eat something. I boil some water and prepare myself a cup of ramen. I join Ed in the living room and continue reading the bounty reports.

At around eight thirty, Jet comes back. He'd gone to cash in the latest bounty we had captured and he returned with groceries. After he had put everything up, he also came to sit in the living room. He sat next to me and gave me my share from the cashed bounty.

"Is Faye around?" he asks.

"No."

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"No."

Jet sighs. "You two," he says before allowing his voice to fade away.

I shrug my shoulders.

I don't know what he's expecting Faye and I to act like. I thought that he would be satisfied if, for the most part, we just pretend we'd forgotten what had happened. Anyway, it's not like Faye and I despise each other.

Well, I guess I don't have the right to say that. I should say, I don't not like Faye. I don't hate her either. Though, it wouldn't seem unlikely if she hated me. It's weird realizing that the same stupid event had two entirely differing effects. Back then, for me, confessing to Faye what I thought at that time made me feel a bit closer to her. But for Faye, I presume the same scenario pushed her further away from me…So now, the one person that at one point I believed could understand what I thought, hates me.

But it's not right for me to generalize her feelings into just that. The truth is, I have no idea what she thinks of me anymore. It's extremely annoying, mostly because now she seems able to read me particularly well. Though I would like to believe I don't know how it became like this, I can't even convince myself of the lie.

I feel egotistical thinking of this as the reason, but I think Faye's just decided to stop wasting her energy in someone like me. She severed whatever connection we had. That's why I can't understand her anymore. And it's also exactly why she can understand me so well.

What kind of shit is that?

I'm so selfish thinking all of this is just about me. I'm nearly sure that that's not the only reason anymore, but I can't figure out the rest. So that's all I'm left with. It's all I know. Just that.

Besides, it's not like anything we had was much of anything to begin. I don't think that neither Faye nor I have ever understood what connection is between us. Keeping things that way, so unclear and often troublesome, though it's a pain, I think is the only thing we know how to do.

When Faye returns at 2:20-something in the morning, she ignores that I have fallen asleep on the yellow couch. As for me, I pretend that the echo of her stilettos and the thick stench of alcohol have not woken me up from a nap I didn't realize I had begun to take five hours prior. When I can't hear her shoes anymore, I stand up from the couch and force myself to walk to my bed.

The next time that we see each other, a week has passed.

However, it's nearly impossible to keep this performance up for too long. Whenever we begin any hunt, things change just for a bit. To a point, we become obsessively aware of each other's behavior. But this is strictly out of necessity.

After nearly an hour of seriously chasing after our bounty, we've finally managed to trap him… though it's proving more than we expected to actually capture him. He has hidden inside the attic of an old abandoned house; his hideout as it turns out. Though he has no means to escape, neither do Faye or I have the means to bring him under our custody. The only entrance to the attic is a small square door that you have to pull down to open. Since the door remains closed, it probably has a lock in the inside as well. As if that wasn't an inconvenience, the only way to reach this door is by climbing on a cheap aluminum ladder. The hinges of the attic door are crooked and the screws are all different sizes. It's an amateur's job, which leads me to believe that the attic is not supposed to even be there. And if that's the case, the boards separating us from our target could be thinner than we expect.

"I'll hold the ladder," I whisper.

"You're expecting me to try and enter the attic," Faye says, or rather, mouths. I try to respond but she continues, "He's a sniper! What do you think he'd be able to do with my head being the first thing he sees coming in through that stupid door?"

"You say that, but you know that if I hold the ladder it'll be easier for you to move. If you hold it, I'll probably end up falling."

I'm not necessarily mocking her and she knows that. This is simply a fact. The ladder is warped and obviously dangerous to climb. I can stabilize the ladder much better than she can for two viable reasons: one, I am stronger than she is and two, she is much lighter than I am.

She looks at the ladder but I can already see her eyes saying 'I'm not doing it.'

Just as I'm about to speak, a shower of bullets penetrates down through the ceiling. Faye grabs the collar of my shirt and pulls me near as she leans closely against the wall. I hear the bullets landing right behind me and I curse myself for being distracted by such a worthless discussion. We stand still, listening for any more signs of fire. After a few seconds, Faye's grip begins to loosen. As she does this, I lift my chin away from her shoulder. We move slowly.

Then, it starts again.

Faye pulls me in once more but she unconsciously whimpers. I push her back against the wall and cover her mouth with my right hand. Though it's quiet again, we shrink our bodies as much as possible against the wall in anticipation for the next firing. I can feel Faye breathing irregularly. Then, I realize that I'm putting too much pressure over her mouth. I lift my palm off of her lips, but my fingertips are still against her skin. After a few seconds, I can feel her steady, balmy breath under my palm.

Then it happens another time. The firing opens. A few bullets haphazardly shot in all directions. The faded mirror on the wall shatters. Faye and I shrink together again. A few bullets land just inches away from our feet. Dumb luck, no doubt. But still too much to risk.

I feel Faye's lips moving soundlessly under my hand. She breathes once then whispers very softly. "The table."

In the midst of all the bullets, I hadn't even noticed. In the end of the room, right under the broken mirror and besides the bones of a rusted bed was a relatively thick table. It wasn't very big, but if we could hide underneath it, it would suffice to cover the cores of our bodies.

We count silently and simultaneously make a run. Though the floor is scattered with sharp pieces, we slide underneath as quickly as possible, a few more bullets fire behind us. The table really is small, and in the end, our legs and arms end up without protection. The mirror's dust and shards have covered the palms of our hands. I rub them off against my sleeve, but Faye picks out the larger pieces out of her wounds first.

"How much ammo do you think this guy has," I ask her quietly.

"Too much…"

Then, as if on cue, he begins to fire again. I stare at the ceiling quietly. Through the holes he's created, I can see cool fluorescent light. The room is dully lit by a few streaks of sun penetrating through a small window, so it's easy to differentiate one from the other. I fix my eyes on the blue light. It flutters. I shoot.

Bullets come raining down of the area perpendicularly. Noticing this, I empty the bullets of my gun in that general region. Then, I hear him curse. Faye, whose last bullets are counted, shots only once. I smirk and reload my gun again.

I stare at the same area for a second time, but the light doesn't flicker anymore. Then the bullets rain down again. This time, it's hectic. Faye and I shrink under the table and somehow her head rests very close to my chest. After this round, my ears are ringing. If I strain myself, though, I can hear the snapping of metal.

"NO!" the man shouts in a deep, raspy voice, almost as if someone was ripping his throat out. He shouts incoherently. The ceiling boards creak. Suddenly, I can hear the clicking of empty guns and heavy metal objects being tossed chaotically. "NO! NO! NO! DAMN IT! NOT ME! YOU'RE NOT GONNA CATCH ME!"

Something tears through the boards and falls towards the center of the room. It get's caught in the wiring of the light and remains suspended a few feet under the ceiling. Faye shoots. I hear another guttural scream. "NOT ME! NOT ME! YOU WON'T EVER GET ME!" Then he laughs and he cries. And then a shotgun blast. A loud thud. And then nothing.

Faye and I don't move. With her so close, I wonder if she can hear the racing of my heart. We stare at the broken ceiling boards and then we see it. Through the bullet holes, the wood begins to stain red and then it drips. Drip, drip, drip. The floor is covered in red splashes and it really does look like it's raining blood. If I look carefully enough, I can see the warmth escaping the blood and the room begins to fill with the rancid stench of death.

I shoot up at the ceiling. Nothing. After a few seconds, I step out from underneath the table and walk towards the attic door. I stare at the hinges and shoot at them until they've loosened up. Seeing this, Faye repeats my actions though she only has three bullets left. Afterwards, she grabs the shaky ladder and I begin to climb it. Once I stop, Faye braces her body against the aluminum. I curve by shoulder under the door and thrust my body upward. The hinges completely break and the door shoots awkwardly up. My footing becomes unsteady and I grab unto the entrance to keep myself from falling while thinking, "I should have made Faye do this." After recuperating my balance, I undo the bolt lock used to close the door from the inside and toss everything aside.

The blue light hurts my vision. I blink and try to focus on the area responsible for the red dripping. I squint my eyes trying to see better. The man's body is sprawled on the boards, a shotgun crossed over his chest. I look up and see the wall splattered with blood and pieces of flesh and brain. My eyes move towards his face. There's nothing left there but a nearly disintegrated jaw with a few protruding ivory teeth. My mouth turns sour and my nose burns.

I lift my eyes up and scan the room. On one of the corners is a desk and a lamp, the source of the light from before. Above it, there are hundreds of pictures taped messily together and circled or crossed out with red marker. To its left, there is a large and empty gun rack. I look around the room and find enough firearms, including the shotgun, to fill it up.

Realizing that I'm taking too long just looking, I climb down. When my feet touch the ground, Faye takes her arms away from the ladder and sighs heavily. Then, she stretches her arms over her head and swings her arms down and circles her shoulders.

I pull my communicator out and call Jet. As I'm speaking to Jet, Faye and I walk out of the house. We stop at the porch and sit down on its steps. I talk with Jet for a few minutes longer and then I hang up.

"Damn, I'm tired," I say purposelessly. I dig into my pockets to find my cigarettes, but no matter how much I look, I can't find my lighter.

"I don't have mine with me," Faye tells me.

I shove the cigarettes back into my pocket and try to forget that the adrenaline has rushed out of my body and that my eyelids are becoming harder and harder to maintain open. Now that it's just Faye and me, with no particular reason to be together, things return to the same dullness they have been. Faye and I say nothing to each other, not even as the police vehicles slowly start to park by the house.

"You guys okay?" Jet says as soon as he arrives.

"I guess," I say.

Faye shrugs her shoulders.

Jet stares at both of us for a second then says calmly, "Go to the ambulance and get checked up." Then, he says in frustration, "It's going to take forever sorting this mess out anyway…Damn…if only I hadn't heard about this guy from my police friend..."

"You see Jet," I say mockingly, "next time one of your buddies asks you a favor, don't involve us."

Jet looks at me annoyed. "Spike, you and Faye are the one's who decided to do it once you heard how much they'd pay. Having to go through this if something happened was a risk you decided to take."

"Whatever," Faye interrupts us, "just, see if you can straighten this out."

When Jet leaves us, Faye and I walk to the ambulance and sit in the back. As a nurse begins to wrap Faye's hands, a man with slick blonde hair comes to interrogate us. It takes him forever to get the information. Even after my wounds are tended to, he's still asking questions.

"Are you positive that this body belongs to Thomas Beckett?"

"Yes," Faye and I answer simultaneously. We glance at each other quickly, it seems this is the only other time during the day when we unconsciously manage to agree with each other.

"Did you see his face?"

Faye says bitterly, "Can't you just match prints or give the body a DNA test and get this over with? He was already a convicted felon to begin."

The man's eyes sharpen and he responds, "There are procedures to which we must conform to in order to maintain a high standard…"

So begins what must be hell to every bounty hunter. You'd think that a simpler procedure would be established, but it isn't. I mean, do they seriously expect that criminals are going to turn themselves in so easily? Of course someone is going to die. It could have been me. It could have been Faye. But this chanced to Beckett. And now we're stuck trying to settle things with people who don't have enough guts or brains to capture these criminals to begin with.

Faye and I had first walked out of the house at around six in the afternoon. Now, the sky is completely darkened and we are still not allowed to leave the premises. Our firearms have been taken away. We are being guarded by a couple of cops. We say nothing. For hours, it seems like nothing happens. The only difference is that, while we're stuck sitting on the curb of the street, the body of Thomas Beckett has already been taken to the morgue. All of this for someone who had killed twenty-three people.

From the moment we begin waiting, nearly five hours pass before the commissioner finally arrives. He steps out of his silver car carefully. He is a very normal looking person. He's average height and wears a dark grey suit. He has short, black hair and sports glasses. The only thing that seems impressive about him is that he appears to be in his early thirties or late twenties, much too young for his position.

Once he's there, things move quickly. Not even half an hour spans when he and Jet walk towards Faye and me. The guards straighten up their posture and salute.

"How's everyone," he says.

I don't answer. Faye says fine. The guards nod their heads while saying 'good.'

"Sorry to have kept you for so long, but things have finally been cleared." As he's speaking, it seems that he appears to be smiling. He extends his hand towards me, "Mr. Spiegel, right." I shake his hand hoping that he'll let us go faster. Then, he turns to shake Faye's hand, "Mrs. Valentine?"

"No," Faye responds amiably, "Ms. Valentine."

"Oh, sorry about that," he says really smiling this time. He's got a good hold of Faye's hand and she doesn't seem to be objecting.

Jet glances at me. I notice this and blankly glimpse back.

When the commissioner finally releases her hand, he's all business again. Although I just want to leave, I stand there listening to him explain the entire procedure yet again. All of this bullshit reminds me of why we had never collaborated with the police before.

Someone brings a tablet to the commissioner and Faye and I have to sign several forms to finally be discharged of any responsibility regarding Beckett. Unfortunately, in doing so, we lose any right to the bounty compensation as well. And if I hadn't been so good, there would have been no possibility of us being affiliated with the police.

It feels like this is going to last forever until finally someone approaches the commissioner. "Commissioner Knight," a young woman addresses him politely. She's small and frail with brown eyes and short, curly blonde hair. "Mr. Carlisle called," she says, "it seems he needs you ASAP. Also, the news want to interview you. They've already managed to get into the morgue and take pictures of Beckett's body without any consent. And as if that weren't enough, they want the details of the story."

"Thank you Kat," he answers pleasantly. "Please get me Carlisle on the line, I'll be there in a minute." He turns to face us again. "Well, looks like that's all we need here. We have all your information and we'll contact you if need be. Also, let me give you my card."

He pulls his contact from the inside of his coat and hands it to Faye. As he does this, it seems that the motion takes longer than it should, but Faye maintains her eyes on him without the least bit of awkwardness. Thanks to that, the whole action appears calm and natural.

"Sir!" the woman from before calls again.

"If you'll excuse me," he says and walks away with his shoulders squared.

Jet glances at the card in Faye's hands, "So that's the guy my friend mentioned…Damian Knight…He just got appointed to this position recently."

"How long ago?" Faye asks.

"Not much, just a few months. Four at the most."

"Is that so…"

"Yeah," Jet continues, "though not everyone is happy with the choice."

"Why? He seems to do a pretty good job," Faye responds.

"Things never are that easy," Jet tells her.

"I'm leaving," I say as I begin to walk away.

"Do you even know where to?" Jet says. I keep walking. He shouts after me, "It's by 13th Street and Elm Avenue."

But I really don't care where I'm going; I just want to get out of this place. I decide to follow Jet's directions, simply so that I can get to bed as soon as possible. I don't look back, but I can hear Jet and Faye following behind me.

I'm so tired, I think I might fall asleep even while walking. I take my coat off hoping that keeping cool will keep me awake, but it doesn't help much. Eventually, I decide to wait for Jet and Faye to catch up. As an excuse, I ask Jet if he by any chance has a lighter. As it turns out, he was carrying mine; he'd picked it up from the living room table before coming, knowing that I'd be needing it after dealing with this mess.

I let Jet and Faye walk ahead of me and I finally light a cigarette. My mind is nearly blank and the nicotine relaxes all my muscles. My body is numb. I feel like a ghost surrounded in a cloud of smoke, following voices to lead me home. Everything feels so surreal and my chest feels so empty. It's like I'm not even here. But, isn't this what I've wanted?

*** * * Ch. 3 End, Continued on Ch. 4 * * ***

* * *

><p><strong>Updates:<strong> I will try to finish proofreading the next chapter by Friday, but I have an important test and a research paper due within two weeks, plus a big design project for a competition with a deadline on the 17th. For these reasons, I cannot guarantee the next chapter to be up Friday…but I will try.

**About ****the ****titles:** My metal side nearly dominated here…the preliminary title was going to be Raining Blood (Slayer).

**Interesting ****fact:**…I had to write this chapter twice because the original file was corrupted...

Please be patient for the next update, until then!


	4. Change

Sorry for the delay, please enjoy!

*** * * Ch. 4 – CHANGE (Deftones) * * ***

* * *

><p>It didn't surprise me in the least. Not whenever Faye suddenly wanted to stay in Mars longer. Not when three days after having met him, she received a call from the commissioner. Not even when she blatantly answered her communicator while everyone was sitting in the living room.<p>

"Hello," she began. "Yes, yes…Of course not!...That's not something you should ask so suddenly…What do you mean?" She's sitting with her bare feet on the edge of the couch, her legs crossed and close to her chest. "Yeah, I know…I guess…but I understand…Today?" She stands up and begins to walk away. "You're not being serious are you?...No, it's just that, like I've said, it's very sudden…"

My eyes follow her as she leaves…but so do Jet's.

"That's the commissioner, isn't it?" he says, staring at me almost as if trying to catch the slightest reaction.

"Probably," I answer, calmly moving my eyes away from the corridor and towards the chess game Ed is playing. Ed seems about to move the bishop, but her hand lingers above it. She sighs and crosses her arms as she intently stares at the board again. "Does it shock you?" I ask Jet, trying to turn things around on him.

"A little," he answers easily. I glance at him. He continues, "It's only been a couple of days, but I expected it to happen sooner."

"Sooner…Why?"

"I don't know. I guess there's something about them."

I cross my arms behind my head and lean back on the couch. 'Something about them.' Could he be speaking about that unusual normalcy between the two even though they were complete strangers?

"That's hard to understand isn't it?" Jet says resting his arms on his knees and leaning forward.

"Not really," I say. "It's not like I'm an idiot."

"Or at least, that's what you think," Faye says sarcastically as she enters the room.

Her words catch me off guard. I turn to where her voice is. So does Jet. And even Ed. I'm about to spite her but she stares at me like I'm interrupting something. Then, we notice that her communicator is still at her ear as she walks away into the kitchen. We turn back awkwardly, pretending none of us had reacted. Ed begins to giggle. But when I look at her, she makes her smile disappear almost instantaneously, but only after having extend it from ear to ear. Then, she looks at the board again and resumes her serious, thinking mode.

Jet stands up. "I'm going out," he begins. "When Faye gets finished with that call, tell her that, no matter what, we're leaving Friday."

I lean further back to see him as he leaves the room.

"Where are we going?"

"Earth."

"There's nothing there."

"I know, but Ed wants to go visit and I'm tired of being here."

I close my eyes after he says that, sliding down the couch until I'm slouching as far back as I can. I'm not tired, but I do feel like sleeping. Maybe it's because I have nothing to do.

I sit there for about ten minutes. But then, Faye comes in and asks Ed to help her with her nails.

When I hear her finish her sentence, I automatically say, "We're leaving Friday."

"What?" she says absentminded.

"We're leaving Friday."

"Will you help me?" I hear her asking Ed again, having pretty much ignored me. "They all have to be the same color though."

Ed glances at the board and finally decides to move the knight. She gets onto her feet and follows Faye out of the room in one swift motion. I look around and stare at the chessboard on the floor. I try to figure out what's going on but the board is levels beyond me. Ein wakes up from his slumber under the coffee table. He sniffs the air and leaves the room quickly. And then I'm left alone.

I pick up a deck of cards from the corner of the table and set up a solitaire game. As I'm moving through the set, I notice that there is an extra ace and that the seven of hearts and the queen of spades are missing. Faye and Jet had used them last. I wonder if I should ask Faye for the missing cards.

A little before eight, Faye and Ed finally emerge from their room. Ed's got red lipstick clumsily placed on her lips and she's wearing the white sheet of her bed as a toga-styled dress. Besides her, Faye looks like she always does when she dresses up. Except, she 'seems' somewhat different today. It's not necessarily the way she's dressed, it's something else that I can't pinpoint.

They sit in the living room, waiting. Ed glances at the chessboard somewhat impatiently since her opponent has not taken turn yet. Faye has her purse tightly held in one hand and continuously runs her hand through her hair making sure that all the strands are in place.

Then she gets a call.

She stares at her communicator letting it ring three times exactly before picking up. "Hey...Yeah, I'm ready…Okay, see you in a bit." She ends the call and then says, "I'm leaving now."

"Bye-bye!" Ed shouts as Faye leaves.

I hide my amusement. This type of thing, it's just like Faye became a teenager with a crush. Seeing this from the outside is peculiar. Or rather, back when she cared, why had I never wondered much on how she behaved towards me? I mean, I noticed. But noticing something and seriously thinking about it are two completely different things. She didn't look like that for me…did she?

"Spike-person," Ed says unexpectedly quietly.

"What is it?" I respond nonchalantly, forcing myself away from my thoughts.

"This commissioner-person…Ed doesn't like him."

I stare at her face. She's so stern about this, but at the same time, so worried. It's not an expression befitting her face. In fact, I can't even tell if she's being serious or not. "Why is that?" I ask her.

"Because…Faye-Faye said she liked this commissioner-person."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"No," she responds unhesitant.

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Why?"

"Because…Ed doesn't like this commissioner-person for Faye-Faye!" she says persistently.

I can't respond...am I supposed to say something? I'm not sure I have anything of importance to say. Still, Ed's eyes are so intently focused I feel required to continue speaking. "But you haven't met him," I say. As the words leave my lips, I can't help but wonder, why the hell am I defending him?

"Spike-person has," Ed says sitting cross-legged right in front of me.

"Not really."

"Spike-person doesn't like him either?"

"Why would you say that?" I ask her. But to be honest, I haven't even considered where my opinion stands with the commissioner…She may be right, or at least, I think I'm leaning more towards that end.

Ed lifts her index finger and points directly at my eyes. "They matched."

"What?" I say surprised. "…No Ed, my eyes don't match." Her hand is still hovering inches away from my face so I push it away.

"They looked the same…When Faye-Faye was chit-chatting."

"They can't," I insist getting a little irritated.

"But they both looked gloomy. Doesn't that mean they match?" She tilts her head towards the left and sits there like a human version of Ein, waiting for me to say something.

It makes me smirk. "You're not old enough to say such philosophical things…Besides, I look gloomy all the time. And I don't really know enough about that guy to say anything…" But Ed stares at me with eyes that yell out her curiosity. "Listen," I pause to consider his character before I continue, "he's a normal looking person. Wears glasses. He's very good at his job…I suppose, sociable. That's all really."

The opponent's pawn moves on the chessboard. Ed turns to see the change quickly. She glances at me one more time then becomes completely distracted, leaping away from her sitting pose only to assume it again once she has positioned herself in front of the board. She supports her chin with her hand and immerses herself. I stand up from the couch and go lie down in my room, grateful that Ed's focus could sometimes be swayed so easily.

Jet comes back at around nine and, after a late dinner, we sit and talk for a while. Ed has been doing nothing but playing chess. But by ten thirty, I'm the only one left that is still awake. Having taken a nap earlier, I don't feel tired and I decide to watch a movie that is playing tonight.

The movie starts out too slow, but then it takes off pretty fast. It's just a basic action movie. A 'regular' guy with an uneventful life finding himself in the middle of something unexpectedly unusual. A hot chick. Lots of fighting. Lots of shooting. A boring romance plot used as an excuse to have an extended sex scene. The usual stuff.

Regardless of how predictable it is, I sit through it loosely paying attention to the scenes. Tomorrow I have nothing to do, so staying up late and watching this movie gives me an excuse to sleep all day long. It's barely turned eleven-thirty, I wonder how much longer the movie will take before it ends and whether or not I should just give up on watching it.

"You're up?" I hear.

I think I'm hallucinating or something, but Faye's steady breathing reassures me that she's really there. I hadn't been paying attention, and I didn't even notice her coming in.

"Yeah," I say glancing at her, wondering why she is back this early.

"Are Ed and Jet awake too?" she continues casually.

"No, it's just me."

"Oh, I see…" She glances at the movie just when a scantily clad woman slams the hero against the wall. It's just at the part when the woman is trying to seduce the guy away from what is 'right.' And then, of course, it cuts to a commercial break.

Faye is standing like some sort of mannequin, her eyes blankly staring at the screen, holding her clutch bag in front of her with both of her hands. Her flawless shoulders tilted forward and her chin is a bit low. The light from the screen makes her skin look even paler and casts heavy shadows on her. The way she's standing, it makes me believe that she wants to talk to someone. I know I'm not the person for it, but it's still hard to ignore it. Her eyes stare at me with a vacant expression that seems to gradually turn to one of sadness and then happiness.

Between Faye and I, the most uncomfortable times are whenever we're seemingly done speaking to each other. Because of this, it feels like we never actually finish a conversation and we're left dealing with an awkward silence. Today is no exception. After the usual uncomfortable break, Faye finally picks up the train of her dress and turns away from me. I face the screen again and wait for the movie to begin. But then, I hear the sudden stop of Faye's heels.

"…Spike," she says abruptly. I don't have time to respond because I'm not even sure she called out to me. "Good night."

The way her voice rings in my ears, I can definitely tell she's happy about something, even if I can't tell what it is. I expect it has something to do with the commissioner, but I really don't think about it. Or rather, I guess I don't want to think about it. What surprises me, and what I focus in, is that I hadn't heard her saying that to me in a long while. It takes a moment for it to really sink in. I know saying good night to someone isn't much of an event, but. Still…

"Night," I answer somewhat uncomfortably and watch her as she disappears down the dark hall.

After she leaves, when I know that I'm alone again, I have this need to keep analyzing her voice as if it revealed some sort of secret. I completely ignore the movie as I hear Faye's voice telling me good night over and over again. I do this even through the movie credits.

Yes, she's happy. But it isn't just that. It's impossible for me to ignore this part of it anymore and I finally began to think about it: she's happy because the commissioner makes her feel that way. And then, I find myself repeating this incessantly. Faye is happy because of the commissioner. She is happy being with the commissioner. Faye is happy. Faye is happy. Faye is happy…

This is a good thing, I tell myself. This is a good thing-for Faye. I have to word it this way, or otherwise, I get defensive about it. I know it's wrong for me to feel this way, but I can't help and be a little jealous knowing that Faye has started to find happiness while I'm unable to change this life of disappointment.

It's fine that she has managed to surpass me and move ahead. It's fine that for once I'm the one that's stuck watching her move ahead. All of this is fine.

No matter how many times I keep repeating this to myself, it doesn't work well enough. I think, I don't want to be here. That's how anything that becomes too bothersome for me ends, with me realizing that I have nothing. With me knowing that I shouldn't be here. With me wanting to go to the past.

But the truth is, none of it lasts. Not even this dejection. Because right after thinking all these things, my mindset always reminds me that I'm wrong and that there's nothing I can do about it. So, I'm left feeling like it's somehow my responsibility to deal with this lack of I don't even know what.

Although we leave Mars, Faye continues to keep in touch with the commissioner. It's very bothersome because if there's a hunt that we need to take care of as a team, we have to schedule everything to fit her new calendar. This means that Fridays and Saturdays are unavailable, plus whatever other day the commissioner and her decide to meet.

After six months of this, he isn't just the commissioner anymore. Or at least, even though he still holds the position, for some strange reason, I can't refer to him like that anymore. To everyone in the ship, he has become just Damian. Which is odd because I don't even speak to the guy. Everything that I know about him, which isn't much to begin, are all things that Faye has somehow managed to get me to remember. Not to say that she wants me to remember them exactly, but they are things that come up and just manage to stick to my head. Some of them are really useless things, like the name of his secretary is not really Kat but Kathryn. Some have more relevancy; he's allergic to watermelon. But I don't know how or why it matters to me.

What does concern me is Faye. Being with Damian changed her. She's become, how do I put this…gentler. From things Faye says sometimes, it feels like Damian's much calmer and less aggressive than she is. So it feels as if she's unconsciously become this way so that she can match him better. Or maybe it's just that his personality is rubbing off on her.

But I guess I should be thankful for that. After all, because of it, Faye is speaking to me again. And I mean really speaking, not just forcing words to make things appear as if they're okay. Which is nice I suppose.

Except that it feels like I'm not talking to her anymore. It's like I'm talking to someone different. Even when we're bounty hunting, when I would expect her to return to her old self, she doesn't. So, I'm left dealing with this person who, for a renewed reason, I don't know well enough.

Sometimes, I try very hard to ignore this change. I mean, if I watch her closely enough, I can tell that she's still Faye. And maybe that's what bothers me. Maybe I think that her actual self is still completely there, trying to come out. But I also feel I could be wrong about this. Because, if I watch her for a longer time, it really does seems that this new Faye really is what she was from the very beginning. The way her eyes look, and the way she smiles…they all remind me of her features in the video I saw of her as a girl.

At least Faye is happy. I don't think she could hide this from anyone. Simply for this reason, everything that has changed is fine. I may not like it; but my opinion doesn't matter. Not even if knowing this change is risking my and, more importantly, her life. If I die, I die. That doesn't bother me. But Faye is happy now and I don't think this bliss let's her see that we can't bounty hunt together like we did before.

I can't tell what she's thinking and she can't read me like she used to. Jet was the first to notice this. I didn't know what he meant for a while, but by the third big hunt, I knew exactly what he meant. Simply put, Faye and I don't match anymore.

Although the times we work together are becoming fewer, every time we have a job, we have to rely heavily on planning. It's a bother. Sometimes, we even have to cover the smallest of details. Something we didn't need before. Of course, when something doesn't go as planned, we're basically fucked.

Unfortunately, such occasion happens too often and sometimes I can't just ignore it, as is the case today.

"Damn it Faye," I grunt through my gritted teeth. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Me!" she responds coming closer. "What were you doing there?"

It's hard for me to stand up. My left side is aching and I can feel the blood slithering through my skin, the fabric of my clothes, and into my hands. I press the wound trying to prevent too much loss of blood. I fall on my knees and lean forward, trying very hard to control my body from shaking. At this point, I wish she'd aimed and shot right through my chest.

"Let me see," she says, quickly kneeling besides me. She tries to take my hands away from my side, but seems unsure of whether this would be a good idea at all.

"Ugh," I say noticing her hesitating to do anything, "Damn it. Just call Jet, or just do something."

"I was trying to see if you were fine," she says a bit frustrated. She pulls out her communicator and reaches Jet quickly.

The wound isn't going to kill me. The bullet didn't actually hit any of my organs; but it managed to tear through the skin and some muscle of my side badly. Though I see the blood covering my hands, I still can't believe this happened. Or that it hurts this much.

So far, this has got to be the worst screw up we've had. I want to blame it all on her, but I know part of it is my fault as well. In spite of that, why the hell doesn't she do anything? No matter how many times this has happened to me, it still hurts. It really hurts.

Faye ends the transmission and stays besides me, watching. I can't open my eyes. Though I'm trying very hard to ignore the ache, I can't. Regardless of how hard I try, I'm still writhing in pain in front of her. I can't remember whether or not she's actually seen me at the instant I'm hurt. So, having her see me acting like this, it's embarrassing.

"Jet'll be here soon," she tells me sounding concerned. Her voice is very soft and somehow manages to comfort me a little.

I nod and shut my eyes tightly before forcing them open for a second. "Okay," I say after a deep breath, trying to calm my voice down and make her believe I really am okay. I know that since she's been with Damian, she get's worried easily.

She moves in a little closer and her shoulder touches mine. I open my eyes and glance at her. She looks at me then moves her hands over mine, helping me add pressure on the wound. "I'm…sorry," she says.

My hands stop shaking, but I feel guilty. "Don't…" I say.

"No. It really is my fault…I can't believe I've become like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play dumb," she tells me a bit bitterly.

"Fine, fine," I respond. "Then if you already know, why don't you do something about it?"

She stays very quiet. I shift my hands over the wound and she takes hers away from mine. Her palms are all covered in red. I don't think she realizes this because she let's her hands fall on her knees. By the time she notices, her thighs are smeared red as well. She doesn't seem to be bothered and waits for my hands to settle over the wound before helping me add pressure again.

"I don't know," she tells me quietly. "Maybe this is really what I've always wanted."

Faye's being too serious about this. I don't know what to say. And, somehow, the only thing that I can think of is, "Yeah, I already know you want to kill me."

Before, I'm sure that she would have gotten angry with me. But that was before Damian. Now, it's something we can talk about without being too grim. Something that doesn't seem to matter to her anymore.

Her voice lightens up and she says, "And I missed again, didn't I?"

Soon after that, Jet arrives. He takes care of my wound and then helps me get to the Bebop. Afterwards, I lie down on the yellow couch and fall asleep. When I wake up, I'm alone in the living room. I stare up at the ceiling and begin to count the small bolts, trying to distract my mind from the throbbing on my side. After a few minutes, I try to sit up and see if I can do something that is less pathetic.

"Don't sit up," I hear Jet ordering me.

I don't think I could have anyway, so I let my attempt fail and lie down again. "What time is it?" I ask him lazily.

"It's about six-forty now."

"This late already."

"You slept a lot."

There's something that's been on my mind for a while and I let Jet know, "You're not going to ask how this happened? Or did Faye already tell you."

"I don't need to ask," he tells me. "I'm sure I have a vague idea of what happened and it's probably a stupid mistake anyway."

"You think?"

"You both screwed up. Isn't that all there really is to it?"

"I guess…" I say, "…I'm hungry, is there anything to eat?"

"Bounty got away," he responds, "the only thing we have is ramen."

But unlike us, Faye isn't having cupped noodles for dinner. According to Jet, Damian had called her earlier and she had gone to dinner with him. I bet right now she's enjoying some really good food. Drinking some really good wine. Having a really good time.

"Where's Ed?" I ask suddenly realizing that it was surprisingly quiet.

"She's been hiding since she and Faye," he begins but stops abruptly. "How should I say this…"

It seems like something is vexing him a lot. But I can't think of anything that would have caused him to act that way…It's kind of funny, or I guess, finding humor in this is the only thing I can do to keep today from being such a pain. "Just say it," I tell him.

"…They fought."

"Huh?" I ask puzzled, as if I hadn't understood the simplicity of his statement.

"They fought."

"Yes, I already heard that. But why?"

"I'm not quite sure."

"You're lying," I tell him. It's obvious by the tone of voice he'd used.

He chuckles and scratches the back of his head, "After you fell asleep, they were talking in the kitchen."

"Yeah, I remember that vaguely."

"And you didn't hear anything?"

"No," I say closing my eyes and yawning. "Just mumbling. I fell asleep pretty quickly after that. What else would you expect with the painkillers I took?"

"Well, Ed found out how you got hurt…I think she got a bit upset because of it. But they were fine. Then Faye began getting ready to leave with Damian. After that, that's when they really began fighting. They were just shouting at each other, with most of what Ed said just being random things and Faye telling her to shut up."

"Is that even considered a fight?" I ask.

"Well, through all the shouting, apparently, they were actually discussing something. I didn't catch it, but Faye told me right before she left since I asked her if anything was wrong…She looked really upset before leaving."

"Then what was it about?"

"Damian…It seems that Ed just told Faye that she didn't like him." As he tells me this, it's obvious he just found out too.

"She's still with that," I say unconsciously. I stop and wince. All the painkillers must be making my mind too lax; otherwise, I wouldn't have let something like that slip.

"You knew already, since when?" Jet asks.

"She told me a long time ago, I think it was the first time Faye and him went out. But I didn't really…I don't know, I didn't think that Ed would be able to dislike someone. Besides, it's not like she's the one dating Damian. It really shouldn't matter much whether she likes him or not."

"That's not it though. As I talked with Faye, Ed came by and told her that she should at least stay home tonight. When Faye asked why, Ed said that it had been Faye's fault that you were hurt and that she should at least worry a little bit about you." He pauses. I think I'm supposed to say something, but I can't. Seeing this, Jet continues, "Faye told her that she knew. But that she had already promised Damian; and that either way, she wasn't going to stop seeing him just because Ed didn't like him or because you were hurt."

"That's expected…I guess."

"Then the last part…Ed said something like 'you just don't care about any of us anymore' and then she stuck her tongue out at her and ran away before Faye could say anything."

"Ah," I say, "so Ed's jealous because Damian's getting all of Faye's attention."

"I suppose," Jet says slowly. "But what Ed said must be true, because Faye saw me standing there and she just looked down and said really quickly that she had to go. Seeing this, it's like being thrown out or something…I think, thinking about it that way, I even became a little jealous too. Wouldn't you?"

My back is aching, so I decide to turn to my unwounded side. I move very slowly, but the shifting disrupts the bandaging. "Ugh…my side still hurts," I say after resting on my right and facing Jet.

He says, "See, I bet that if Faye wasn't with Damian so much, you wouldn't be hurt right now."

"We should just stop talking about him," I say a bit annoyed, "He doesn't really have anything to do with us-"

"But because Faye spends so much time with him, I think she expects everyone to act like him. That's why you ended up like this. She thinks that you'll react to things like Damian would."

"I think…I've already realized that…"

"And that doesn't bother you?"

I don't answer him. Since Faye has been with Damian, I think Jet has been trying to get my opinion on things that somehow relate to their relationship. Somehow, I've managed to evade most of everything. But recently, he's become more persistent. I think he's starting to worry about her now, but I'm not really sure.

To be honest, I don't know how it would help if I admitted anything. This is Faye's relationship and she's happy. But Jet's, I'm guessing, 'fatherly' or something or another instinct says otherwise. Lucky for me, I don't have to say anything again since I can hear Ed running towards the living room. I hear her coming closer and closer and then I realize that she's probably going to try to jump on me. "No Ed!" I say quickly.

She stops her momentum by colliding against the back of the yellow couch. Even then, she manages to create a shock that ends up hurting me either way. I clutch my side and grunt a bit.

"Spike-person is awake!" Ed says grinning widely. It's odd, but I can actually tell that this is all just for show. She does seem frustrated about something, and I don't even know how it's possible for me to tell this. "Ed's going to take care of Spi-Spi!" she says.

"I'm fine," I say quickly, fearing that having Ed constantly besides me will end up making the injury worse. But in this, I notice that she's somehow trying to make up for what she believes is Faye's responsibility.

As Jet stands up from the couch and begins walking to the kitchen, he tells her, "C'mon, help me make dinner for him."

"Okay," she says running after him, "Ed knows how to boil water!"

I watch her run away and by body relaxes a little bit. As I let my muscles loosen up, the throbbing on my side burns until the movement ends. My mind is still numb from the meds that I had taken earlier, but not enough to disregard the ache. It feels like maybe the painkillers are wearing off and I wonder whether it's time for me to take another dose. So, I lay there waiting and feeling the pain eating me meticulously.

As I feel this, I question whether it would've been better to be killed by Faye way back when…or even now. Either way, I don't think I would mind dying if she were the one to kill me.

Yeah, she's changed being with Damian, but even if she's restraining it, very deep down inside of her, I think she really still wants to argue with me and hit me and punch me and, well, shoot me. Or maybe with these thoughts I'm trying to compensate for something that isn't there.

I open my eyes when I hear Ed counting her steps. She's carefully carrying one cup of noodles on each of her hands. Jet is behind her carrying his cup and chopsticks for everyone. I sit up very slowly, biting my bottom lip as the stinging carries across my side. I exhale heavily when I finally get myself to sit up straight.

Ed tries to feed me, but I manage to convince her otherwise. Although we eat quietly, I'm sure that we're all thinking about Faye. I guess we're finally realizing that she doesn't belong with us anymore. Or at least, I don't think that she can keep on like this much longer.

I'm the worst person to say this, but, Faye can't let go of her past. I think, although she's aware of her change, she can't let go of who she was yet. Even though she's not fit for it any longer, she still wants to hold down to the belief that she can chase people down at gunpoint. That she and I can still work together. That she is still a bounty huntress.

But this is not who she is right now. Instead, she's become a normal woman, pursuing a normal relationship with a normal man. I…am not particularly fond of this. But that's not something I can tell her since I have no right to interfere in anything she does. Regardless of how much the change in her bugs me.

I remain sitting down until I finish my food and take my next dose of painkillers. It takes about fifteen minutes after that for my head to feel really drowsy. Another five minutes after that, even though it's still relatively early, I fall asleep on the couch again.

My mind is blank and the next thing I remember is being woken up by the smell of perfume mixed with alcohol and cigarette smoke. It's hard for me to get my eyes to open, but I finally force myself to do it. It's dark, but not enough to keep me blinded. After blinking a few times, I make out the silhouette of her slender shoulders and long neck.

"Faye," I whisper nearly inaudibly as my eyes continue to clear her features.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she says quietly, but it's as if she actually doesn't mean it. I stare at her while she continues, "Why aren't you in bed?"

"I don't feel like moving…" I say lazily. And since I'm halfway asleep, "It still hurts."

"Ah," she says hesitantly, "I'm sorry."

Hearing her talk like this shakes the sleep away. What exactly is she sorry for? Is she sorry for having shot me? Or is she sorry for missing? Is she sorry for waking me up? Or is she sorry for going out with Damian while I'm stuck to this couch, wounded? I don't know why, but it just pisses me off.

Jet is right. It really is like being thrown out. And…it really does bother me more than it should.

"Ugh," I mumble unconsciously, "it must be the painkillers."

"What?"

"Nothing," I tell her. But it must be the medicine that's making me so upset about this; my mind is hazy. The medicine is not letting me think clearly and I'm coming up with a rationale that I wouldn't have otherwise.

We stay quiet for a few seconds until Faye finally speaks again. She says, "Are you going to sleep here, wouldn't it be better for you to be in bed?"

"No," I say trying to clear my head, "I'm staying here."

"Is it that bad?...The pain, I mean."

"It's nothing that I'm not used to."

"You should go to your bed then."

"Why are you so persistent about this?" I say sitting up on my elbows.

Faye walks closer to me and kneels down, managing to bring our eyes to the same level. She gives one quick glance down then says very straightforwardly, "Damian asked me to move in with him."

I'm not sure I heard what she said correctly. It's like her words slithered from one side of my head to the other, not giving my brain enough time to process the information. Faye doesn't say anything, so now I'm positive that what I think I heard is right.

"What does one thing have to do with the other?" I stutter a bit, unsure of what it is that I'm supposed to do in this type of situation.

"Well," she begins hesitantly, "Ed doesn't like Damian." This much I already know and having heard it earlier today, it just doesn't have any impact. Faye stares at me for a while, I suppose, expecting these news to have some sort of effect, but seeing none continues. "We fought. And well, I just don't think I can sleep in our room. Specially now that Damian has asked me this."

"…Would you have if he hadn't asked you?"

"Probably," she answers quickly. "But he has…"

"Why would you have?" I ask, fully aware that I'm trying to steer the conversation away from the second subject.

"Because," she says and pauses. She doesn't really answer my question and instead replies, "I never thought that me being with Damian bothered Ed so much…and worse, I talked to her a lot about him. Even when I came back late, she would listen to what I had to say."

"Then just don't talk to her about it."

"But it's hard for me not to," she says slightly frustrated. "This is something even I wasn't expecting and it's hard not to bring it up since I'm thinking about it so much."

After she finishes speaking, I can't say anything back. Doing and saying nothing feels awkward, so I lay back down with my head over my crossed hands. Faye doesn't move, so I lay there staring at her just slightly above me. Her eyes focused in the darkness. Saying nothing, it makes me realize that she's using me as Ed's substitute. And suddenly, I feel very sorry for Ed. I'm impressed with the kid's ability to deal with this; I don't know how she did it. Hearing Faye tell me these things, just this one time, it really is uncomfortable. I mean, I don't think I could have put up with it for as long as Ed did.

Faye sighs. She crosses her arms right next to my wounded side and lets her head fall carefully on them. "Just go to your bed," I hear her muffled voice.

She looks so pathetic.

I hate seeing her like this. Yet, I can't do anything about it, even if I feel like grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her until all the uselessness is removed from her body. I just don't understand how Damian would prefer for Faye to be like this having had the chance to meet her as she was before.

"Please," she adds even more meekly.

Watching her in this state makes me feel responsible for something I don't exactly know. I feel that I should somehow try to fix it. Because, I think that in a normal situation, I'm supposed to somehow comfort her. If I were able to do that, I could just lift my arm from under my head and place it over her shoulder. If I could tell her anything, I could just say everything would be fine and not to worry. But things between Faye and I have never been normal. This has never been my place and I can't do any of that. Specially now, for that, she has Damian.

Damian is the one that she spends her time with. Damian is the one that she talks to. Damian is the one that she can be comforted by. Damian is the one with whom she laughs. Damian is the one that she thinks about freely. Damian is the one that she sleeps with unashamedly. Damian is the one. And that's all there is to it.

Shit…I'm jealous.

I know it's wrong for me to feel this way. I'm being just like Ed, but today it seems like there is no other way for me to feel. It's been dismal and everything just seems to find its root to the fact that Faye is with Damian. Is it really possible that Faye's attachment to him is that strong?

"Sleep in my bed," I tell her.

"Wh…What?" she says lifting her face away from her arms.

"Just go to my room. Sleep there…Or what? Will Damian get jealous if you sleep in another man's bed?"

"Don't be stupid," she tells me, "just go to your room so I can sleep here."

"You must really hate me if you can't even sleep in my room," I say absently.

"I don't hate you," she says just as idly.

"Then just go," I repeat. "I'm not moving. And since you're so determined to sleep here as well, do you think Damian would rather you slept with me or in my room?"

"Stop bringing Damian up," she orders me.

"But weren't you the one that spoke about him first?" Hearing no response from her I say, "I'm tired, just go to my room so I can fall asleep again. "

She takes a while to answer, "Fine."

She's about to rise to her feet again when I realize that she's wearing that dress that she always has to get Ed's help to unzip. I wouldn't have noticed, but when she moves, the broach on her chest, the one that's located on the neckline of the dress just where her breasts meet, shines an eerie pink color against the fabric and the light reflecting against her smooth chest turns blue.

"Why do you still have that dress?" I ask carelessly.

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't it the one with the broken zipper?"

"Ah," she says annoyed, "that's right…I'd nearly forgotten." Then, she asks surprised, "How do you know this?"

"When you wear it, you always ask Ed for help."

"You notice that?"

"I guess…" I say and wonder what she would think if she knew that watching others is the only thing that has kept me from letting a life full of nothing kill me.

"…This is the dress I wore when I went out with Damian the first time…"

Totally expected. Damian this, Damian that. Wasn't she the one just asking me to stop talking about him earlier? It annoys me. It really does…those stupid meds. They're making me lose control of myself and I end up feeling like this.

"So what are you going to do? Are you going to get Ed's help this time too?" I ask.

"You know I can't…I'm sure I can get it," she says as she moves her hands to the back of her dress. She fumbles with it as if testing out if she would really be able to undo it. She plays with it for a few seconds, but it seems to me that she'll be unsuccessful. It's a bit frustrating to watch her. If she needs my help, can't she just ask for it?

I should tell her that I'd take care of it first. But I don't. Instead, I ignore the pain of my side and sit up, wrapping my arms around her without considering whether she really wants my help or not. The movements of her hands die and her hands fall to her sides as soon as my fingertips hover over hers.

"Is it really that difficult?" I ask running my fingers above the zipper head. Faye doesn't tell me anything, but I don't know whether that's from the shock of suddenly getting so close to her or not.

I pull down on the zipper with normal force, but there is no movement. Then, I realize that there's a hook at the very top, right above the zipper. To get a firmer grip on the hook, I slide my thumbs between her warm skin and the dress, feeling my nails digging slightly into her flesh. I pull the ends of the dress being connected closer to loosen the fasting. Faye's body twitches when the dress tightens over her chest and I feel her irregular breath against my cheek. Her chin shifts lower after I complete the motion, and since we're this close, her head ends up resting on my shoulder. I'm the one caught off guard now and I glance over at her realizing that Damian had been the only man allowed to do something like this in a good while.

Noticing this, I can't help but wonder whether she's thinking about him right now. Even though I'm the one who she's been talking with. Even though I'm the one that's helping her right now. Even though I'm the one whose arms are around her. Even though I'm the one whose hands are touching her skin. Even thought I'm not him, is that who she's thinking about?

I try to stop assessing my baseless resentment and move my hands to the zipper head again. I hold the two ends of the dress together with one hand and grip the small zipper tightly. I try to simply pull the zipper down, but I can't. Just before pulling, I purposely slide my thumb to the top of the zipper head, allowing my fingertip to touch the softness over her spine. I feel her skin crawling at the contact and wait for the goose bumps to spread as her shoulders shrink closer to her body. Then, I selfishly let my thumb trace her back as I finally pull the zipper down, making sure that the motion is much slower than necessary.

"There…You made it look like it was much harder," I whisper in her ear, aware that my thumb still hasn't left the skin of her lower back. She doesn't tell me anything. I smirk at this and unhurriedly move myself away from her.

She remains motionless for just a second before she grips the front of her dress in place and stands up leisurely. "I guess I really need to get it fixed," she says.

"I guess…If you need sleeping clothes," I say to her, "just look through the bottom drawer of my dresser."

"…Okay…" she says.

"Good night," I tell her as I lay down.

"Night," she responds vaguely, even though the rhythm of her heels is already disappearing towards the direction of my room.

I'm being both very egotistical and hypocritical. But I really am very curious about this. How would she react after having me acting this way? With the lingering contact of my thumb over her back, sleeping in my room between the sheets of my bed, wearing my clothes. Even then, would she still not be able to forget about Damian for a little while? I don't know whether something like this is possible or not, but I fall asleep believing that just for one night, she's not thinking about him.

When I wake up the next morning, it's already eleven. I'm alone in the living room and the throbbing soreness of my side has extended unto my chest. I manage to sit up, and as my feet touch the cold floor, I have this odd feeling of bitterness.

I hear the pitter-patter of Ein's feet and then Ed's awkward footsteps.

She moves slowly and sits cross-legged on the floor across from me. The whites of her eyes are an off-color and her lips look dry. Has she been crying? She picks up Ein from the floor and hugs him tightly although he tries to escape her grasp.

"Spi-Spi," she says hugging Ein a bit tighter. He yelps a little and Ed loosens her arms around him. "Faye-Faye…she…" then she puffs her cheeks and exhales quickly, letting her lips pulsate with the motion. "Poof!" she says, releasing Ein and gesticulating an explosion with her hands.

I stare at her blankly.

"Faye-Faye left."

My blood seems to freeze for a second, but that's the only physical reaction I have hearing this. "…I guess it was bound to happen…" I say evenly.

"Yup," Ed responds. I think that she's behaving too calmly, but then I notice the corners of her mouth quivering a little. She stands up and picks up Ein again. As she carries him, her face hides behind Ein's furry body. "But Faye-Faye is happy!" she says with an unnatural enthusiasm.

"That's right," I lie as well, "she's happy, so it's fine."

She nods energetically and walks out of the room still carrying Ein over her face.

I don't move and it feels like either time is forcing itself to slow down or my mind is running with an unnatural speed. But it's just; I don't understand Faye at all anymore. It caught me completely off-guard that she would leave. Not because she hasn't done something like this before, but because it's something she didn't do anymore. More importantly, somehow, I didn't anticipate that Faye would want to stay with Damian in that way. No matter how much she seems to care for him, I never really believed that she would seriously enter that sort of permanent relationship. And now, I can't seem to accept this change that's caused her eyes to be so gentle for someone else.

*** * * Ch. 4 End, Continued on Ch. 5 * * ***

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><p><strong>Updates:<strong> I should be back on schedule; so next Friday should be the next update.

**About ****the ****titles:** By far, the easiest title to find…

**Interesting ****fact(s):** Umm…what can I say about this one…at the time I think I was disappointed in the movie Wanted. A lot of my friends had really hyped me up for it, but when I watched it I thought it was nothing special…so…yeah…Something better, Ed calling "Spi-Spi," I think she called him this in one or two of the mangas for CB…Although not necessarily canon, I'm pretty fond of the manga versions, so I figured I'd use this much here.

_Please review. Until next time!_


	5. No Self Control

As promised, chapter five…Please enjoy!

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><p><strong>* * * Ch. 5 – NO SELF CONTROL (The Pillows) * * *<strong>

After a while, despite of how much you think you hate change, you get used to things being different. I find myself very aware of this as I smoke alone on the deck of the Bebop. I've already finished my coffee, but the sun still hasn't fully come out. The wisps of smoke coming from my cigarette blend into the dull sky. I'm watching nothing and doing nothing. The only thing that seems to be alive is the burning paper and tobacco.

It looks like it's going to be a good day. It's not too cloudy and there's this nice breeze. So, I wait silently until the sky finally becomes blue. I turn around and walk back into the ship, stretching my shoulders and neck as I go.

It's only been two months since Faye left, but it already feels like she was never here. The bathroom doesn't smell like that flowery shampoo that she always used and there's always hot water. When I do the laundry, I don't ever find her stray hosiery somehow mixed up with my clothes. There's even enough food to go around, even when our bounty gains are only mediocre.

I think the only difference since she was here is that new scar on my left side. Only when I happen to gaze at it, I remember that it's only been a couple of weeks. I remember the last time I saw her. And I also remember how stupid I can be…

Still. Looking at it now, it's kind of nice. I didn't think that I could behave like that anymore. Or rather, that I could force myself to somehow be part of something that for the longest time I had only been satisfied with watching. I know that it was wrong for me to, of all things, choose to intrude in Faye's relationship. And if I could replay that night, just for my sake, I would prevent myself from behaving in such manner. Acting like that towards her made me think in a way that I shouldn't. That's why…regardless if because of it, for a while, I stopped feeling like I didn't have a purpose, I wish I had never touched her skin.

But all of this is irrelevant. I was wrong. Nothing resulted from my stupidity: Faye can't stop thinking about Damian. And we have nothing to do with each other anymore. So there's nothing to fix. Nothing at all.

"Have you figured out anything about Smith?" Jet asks as soon as he spots me.

"Just what I need," I tell him. "I'm planning on catching him tomorrow night…he's a small catch, so I'm not worried."

"You've been catching a lot of small ones lately."

"But it adds up, doesn't it?"

"I suppose…And with Ed like she is, I can't really help you out anyway."

"This is why I hate children, they get sick so easily."

"Are you aware of how old she actually is?"

"No. But compared to us, she's still a kid. Besides, you treat her more like a kid than anyone else…You know, soon enough she'll get old enough and leave the nest for good."

Jet smirks, "I'm used to it….But it seems that you're the only one I can't ever get rid of."

"But you need me Jet," I respond mockingly, "If you didn't have me now, how would you be able to keep up with your expenses?"

"I wouldn't have to feed you, that's how."

"Which reminds me, what's for lunch?"

"I don't know," Jet says aloofly, "maybe chicken soup." By the time he finishes saying this, he's already out of range, probably wanting to hear nothing back from me.

I sigh. Without Faye, my life suddenly became boring.

I didn't realize until now how much time I wasted noticing things she did. Even stupid things, somehow I actually paid attention to them all. I don't know whether this is because I couldn't help but notice her change into someone different, or because I was just bored…Or if I was always aware of her but just never really thought about it. Either way, I'd gotten adjusted to using up my life watching her live out hers.

Being stuck with Jet and Ed, it seems that my days are so long and monotonous…like there's something missing from my already incomplete stasis. Which is odd. How can something be missing from something that was never complete?

I hate Faye's absence because I can't get distracted and I end up noticing things about myself that I hadn't addressed before. Like, I've become worse than she was before being with Damian. I mean, honestly worse in every aspect. I smoke more. I drink more. I've probably slept with more women in one month than she dated men in three.

This just started recently too. Before, I used to think that I was such a well-behaved man while waiting for Julia. And even after accepting her death, it was only occasional. But now, it seems I have the urges and rebellion of a seventeen-year-old. It must be that I'm getting old or something. Maybe I'm entering some sort of mid-life crisis a decade too soon.

I go out quite a bit, but it's not like I do it specifically to meet women. If it happens, fine, I'll take the opportunity. But the only reason I leave the Bebop is to distract myself from thinking too much. That's why, tonight, I decide to visit a bar in the middle of town.

Before leaving, Jet calls out to me. He tells me to come back early enough since he doesn't want to travel to our bounty destination just a few hours before the hunt. It makes sense since I'm the one who's actually doing any of the work, so I acknowledge him distantly before I exit the ship and begin to wander around the streets.

After a few minutes, I finally reach my destination. The bar is a cozy place that smells of fermenting beer. There are only seven tables on the room and five stools by the counter. It's decently inhabited and the liquor is reasonably priced.

I sit alone on one of the edges of the counter, simply enjoying my drink. Then, after about twenty minutes of being unaccompanied, a woman sits next to me. She glances at me for a second then turns away shyly. I ask for another drink and when the bartender comes by, she takes the opportunity to order herself a drink as well. I'm used to sitting in silence, but the woman must not be because she's biting her lips as if thinking of a way to break the ice. I think she's going to give up. But just then, she asks what I'm drinking.

"Whiskey," I tell her.

"Is it good?" she says before cutting herself short "-that's a stupid question. Why drink it otherwise, right?"

I shrug my shoulders and say nonchalantly, "It's good."

She laughs quietly, "Sorry, I don't come to bars often and I'm not much of a drinker so I ask dumb things sometimes."

I'm bored so I ask her, "What's a not-much-of-a-drinker doing in a bar?"

She seems glad that I haven't just chosen to ignore her as she says, "Celebrating of course!"

I look around the premises. Even though it's a bar, it's a relatively relaxed crowd. "This isn't much of a celebrating atmosphere," I tell her.

She smiles awkwardly, "I know. But my apartment's only a few blocks away, so it's easy to get here…How about you? Are you here just drinking?"

"Pretty much."

"Ah, that doesn't sound like too much fun."

"Yet you're the one celebrating here."

"Well, I say that I'm celebrating, but I really just want to get drunk too." She pauses as she picks up the long strands of dark brown hair away from her face and places them behind her ears. She says, "I didn't know what else to do and this is the only thing that I thought you're supposed to do in my situation…that is…I got cheated on." She lifts her left hand showing me her gold band and continues, "See, I'm married…I think I'm supposed to feel much more offended by it, but I can't say I didn't think it was happening before I found out. The sad thing is, he insists that he still loves me and I don't really want to leave him…or at least not yet."

I take a drink out of my glass slowly before noting her emphasis on a particular word, "Yet?"

"Yet…because I hope that he still really loves me. You know, the whole eye for an eye thing, that's one of the few things I think makes sense…I feel like…I should get back at him. And if he doesn't love me anymore, or if I leave him now, there won't be much of a point to do it because he won't feel what I did."

"You're not really here to just get drunk then…"

"No, I am," she says definitively. "I figured that if I got wasted enough I'd end up sleeping with someone…That's why I say I'm here celebrating. I used to do things like this when I was younger. But it seems that when a woman hits thirty that's our end." She laughs, seemingly acceptant of this. "So," she says, "are you really here just for a drink?"

She turns on the stool to face me as I simply answer, "Yeah."

Her fingers lace in her lap and her face turns a bit red as she asks, "Well, I'd rather not get wasted and suffer with the hangover tomorrow…So, if that's all you're doing…do you want to help me?"

I take my lips away from the glass after I finish taking another drink. I look at her and for the first time notice that she has green eyes. The air around her seems familiar too. I keep staring at her eyes and don't answer.

"I like your voice…" she says smiling, as if somehow that would make a difference. It takes a while, but it seems to work because I'm finally able to blink.

I laugh lightly and say, "Is that enough of a reason to?"

"At least there's a reason," she says, laughing herself. After a few seconds, she turns back on the stool and continues, "But if I'm too old for you too, or if it's because I'm married, I understand. I'd like to think I'm not so desperate that I have to force someone."

I think about it and realize that it's been a week and a half since the last time. I've been trying to be good about it. But. Whatever…"I like your eyes."

"What?" she says a bit surprised.

"Well, since you were the one to ask me first, I figured I was supposed to play hard to get. But it didn't seem to be working."

She laughs again, blushing. "Damn, I've lost practice. I really don't know what I'm doing. Right?"

But I thought that on the contrary, she knew exactly what she was doing. She was obviously that type of person to painstakingly think about everything before deciding to make a choice, the type of woman with a set mind that controlled her feelings. In that sense, I suppose she's closer to Julia than to Faye.

We talk for a while longer and I finally learn that her name is Lillian. Just a few minutes after that, we leave the bar. She tells me that she'd asked her husband for a short break so that we should just use her apartment instead of wasting money on a room.

During the walk there, we continue talking, and I'm glad that I can at least have a decent conversation with her as well. With Faye gone, if I talk to anybody it's just Jet or Ed. It isn't much of a choice and most of the time I feel like I'm either talking to a single mother or an unwanted younger sibling. At least, Faye didn't sound like she seriously scolded me or acted like a hyperactive monkey. But I guess, she was just becoming interesting to watch since she was getting boring to talk to too. After all, the only word that continuously spilled from her mouth was Damian's name.

"Here it is," Lillian says when we stop at the front of a three story building. It's kind of old and painted in a weird, light blue color. "I live on the second floor."

We go up the stairs and when she unlocks the door, she has to struggle with the doorknob. When she finally opens the door, I notice that there are papers scattered everywhere. After she lets me in, I look closer at them and notice that they're actually drawings. On the walls, on the tables, on the couch. The whole living room is covered in them.

I pick one up. It's a sketch of a nude woman with shoulder length hair. I look up at Lillian; her hair reaches her waist. "Do you draw?" I ask.

"Oh, no!" she says, "Mick's an artist. In fact, that woman is his lover. Ah, but I should have seen it coming, a twenty-year-old model had become his muse."

I stare at the drawing, "Why do you still keep these around then?"

"I'm going to sell them, of course," she says as if that was the most obvious answer. "Do you want something to drink?"

"No, I'm fine," I tell her setting the drawing down, thinking that Faye might have done the same.

Lillian calls out to me. When I face her, she crosses her arms and shrugs her shoulders, slightly pushing her breasts together in the motion. She leans forward a bit, the neck of her shirt falling low, and casually says, "Well…then…should we just have sex now?"

When we walk into her and her husband's bedroom, I notice that the bed is made very neatly. I look away from the floral printed sheets, take off my coat, and begin to undo my tie. Seeing this, Lillian comes closer to me and places her hands over mine, a gesture that allows our bodies to make contact for the first time.

"Mick never wears anything but t-shirts and jeans," she says smiling temptingly. "But I think men with ties are sexy."

A small smile grazes my face and I ask, "You think so?"

"Yes. Very sexy," she says assuredly, her voice soft and seductive.

She pulls me closer, nearly using my tie as a lasso, and kisses me. I smirk, with our lips still touching, wondering whether it was the fact that she was such an assertive woman, rather than her age, that led her husband away. Because, to be honest, I don't think she looks any older than twenty-eight, which is a lot as far as women's ages go.

The longer we kiss, the more I notice that she really is very dominant. Except that, unlike her husband, who probably isn't enough of a man to do it, there's no way I'm letting her have all of the fun. That's why, rather than letting her keep me at her height, I place my hands around her face and lift her closer to me. She has to stand high on the tips of her feet and her balance is shifted forward so that her body is pressed against mine. She appears to enjoy it. After a few seconds, however, she seems annoyed by the fact that she's not the one in control anymore and she pushes me back onto the bed.

But, even before reaching the mattress, I take a hold of her shoulders and twist our bodies so that she's the one that ends at the bottom. When the movement stops, her chest heaves up and down rhythmically following her slow, deep breaths. She looks taken aback, like if I had just done something that was inhumanly possible.

I pick up her hands from her abdomen, and move them up and away from her body, leaving her completely vulnerable. I smile down at her and kiss her neck. She squirms a little, still trying to change our positions, but as my lips move closer to the v-line neck of her shirt, she stops. Instead of trying to force space, she arches her body, desperately trying to close the gap between my mouth and her skin.

She licks her lips and bites them shut, attempting to keep her moans from projecting too much. My skin begins to burn and I move away from her body to unbutton my shirt. In spite of this, she sits up as well, kissing my hands and sucking my fingers before they even move over the first button. Eventually, I manage to undo the first three. Somehow, Lillian takes her shirt off and throws it aside before wrapping her arms over my neck and pulling me down again so that my mouth is on her chest.

"Don't stop," she says wrapping her legs around my waist. Her voice is so soft and desperate that I really don't feel like I have much of an option. But I do tease her a little by very slowly undoing the hooks of her bra. When she notices this, she pleads in the same airy voice, "Please."

When I consent, I feel my skin crawling as her hands move over my chest, slowly unbuttoning the rest of my shirt. She pulls until she untucks my undershirt. Then, she slides one of her warm hands underneath, moving from the middle of my abdomen, over my chest, and up to my left shoulder. I lift my arms, one at a time, as she manages to bare my torso. With our skin touching, I can feel the blood rushing to my head.

I move slowly, really enjoying the feel of her skin and her body. She squirms underneath me and moans loudly, the pressure in my body pulsating anytime she does. Then, as I continue to move over her skin, she buries her fingers in my hair, as if there would be a chance I would leave things unfinished. From time to time, it appears that she's still trying to change our positions. But after a few hasty tries, she gives up on the idea rather easily.

After we've both been sexually satisfied, we don't pretend that what we did was anything more than sex. We lay in bed, each on one side, heaving for a few minutes. I glance at the clock just before it turns twelve-thirty and remember that I was supposed to be back at the Bebop.

"Shit…" I say quietly, "It's already this late…"

Lillian looks over at me, "Do you need to get going, then?"

"Yeah," I answer sitting up.

Lillian wants to try doing it again some other time, but I tell her that I will be leaving town. She sighs and tells me that at least she got the chance to finally get back at her husband. She helps me gather my things and walks me to the door of her apartment after I'm dressed.

She's still wrapped with a floral sheet of her bed so she hides behind the door as she watches me leave. She whispers, "Thanks for tonight. If you want to meet again, you know where to find me!" I know it's late, and since I'm already out in the hallway, I turn to face her and simply wave back, giving her a small smile while staring at her green eyes.

Walking back to the Bebop feels longer than it should. There isn't that many people on the streets and the lights are dimmed. It feels like I'm the only living person in the town. I think that if it had been Mars, people would still be bustling about. It feels like time is endless there. Maybe that's why Faye decided to stay.

When I make it back to the ship, Jet scolds me for being late again. However, he doesn't bother me with it for too long, instead deciding to go ahead and leave for Mars. After seeing him move to the control room, I make my way to the bathroom. After a good shower, I change into my sleeping clothes and fall asleep rather quickly.

The next morning, I wake up in Mars. Ed's still sick. Jet's asleep on my yellow couch.

I don't bother waking him up since it seems like forever since I've seen him resting. I think that only the morning will be this uneventful, but it ends up being the whole day. As it turns out, the bounty hunt proves to be the least exciting event of the day. Catching Smith isn't hard at all. The idiot runs into a dead end and that pretty much takes care of him.

I take him to the police department and get my compensation. It's already past ten, although because Mars is such a lively place, it looks too bright. Either way, I'm still tired from last night so I think that this will be it for me today. Jet calls to see how things went even before I have the chance to leave the police department. I tell him about it as I buy a drink from a vending machine. I say to him that I'm about to head back and then we hang up.

I light a cigarette as I walk down the steps of the building. Just then, I see a car pulling up that looks exactly like the one Damian uses. Since this is his workplace, I wonder if it's actually him. I stare at the vehicle for a moment, questioning whether I should pretend I don't see it.

It doesn't take me much to decide and I continue walking away from the building. After I'm far enough to be lost in the crowd, I have to satisfy my curiosity so I glance back to see if it really was his car. I nearly miss him since, as soon as I turn, Damian walks into the building.

But it's Saturday night. Isn't this Faye's night?

I finish the rest of my drink and continue smoking as I walk back to the ship. When I reach the Bebop, I notice a sleek black car parked very close by. I glance at it a couple of times then make my way inside the ship.

When I open the door, I'm greeted by something unusual. The silence that I expect is gone. Instead, I walk slowly, hearing noises of liveliness coming from the living room. I hear Jet for a second. A cough. And then a short laugh that rings in my ears. I quicken my step a bit and stop once I'm in the living room.

She's here.

Faye hears the sudden death of my steps. "Hey!" she says happily while embracing Ed hard against her chest. Ed flings her arms around, trying to get her face away from between Faye's breasts. She does so, just in time to sneeze. Faye grimaces and covers her face just before it happens. "Don't be gross," Faye says pushing Ed away like if she had become an unwanted toy.

I stare at her, for I don't know how long, while she cleans her face. When I catch myself doing this, I force myself to face Jet. "Is there anything to eat?" I ask him.

He get's up from the couch and I follow him into the kitchen. "There's a plate for you in the fridge," he says pulling it out. He hands it to me and waits as I heat it up. He must have seen me glancing towards the living room because he says, "It's weird, isn't it?"

"I don't think there's another way of putting it," I respond slowly.

"You know, Damian saw you at the police department earlier. He told Faye about it and then she called me to make sure we were here. She came quickly and the first thing she did was talk with Ed. I don't know what happened but…they don't seem to be mad anymore."

I get my food once it has been heated and sit down to eat. I take a bite and now it's too hot. I blow on it a little and continue eating. Jet sits across from me drinking a glass of water. We sit in silence as I slowly eat my dinner. Then, Faye comes into the kitchen.

She still moves around it as if she knows exactly were everything is. She fills a glass full of orange juice and is about to close the fridge when she glances over at the table. For some reason, she sits that glass down right next to my plate. When I turn to see her, she is already reaching for another glass. She fills it up and walks out of the kitchen without saying a word. Jet and I stare at the orange juice sitting in front of my plate.

"Is this for me?" I ask.

For some reason, Jet looks around the table, "I guess…maybe she saw that you didn't have anything to drink."

I stop eating and pick up the glass. I don't know why but I spill the first thing that comes to my mind, "Doesn't it makes sense that she would do it out of habit." I take a drink then say, "I mean, she must do this for Damian all the time."

"That makes sense…"

A bit before I finish, Faye walks into the kitchen and sits on the chair that was usually hers. Her pristine white blouse, decently buttoned. Her hair pinned away from her face. Sitting perfectly without a hint of a slouch…The only thing I can think of is that she looks out of place being here.

"Jet," she begins.

"What is it?"

"I…wanted to take Ed with me…so that she could meet Damian…but since she's sick…" and that's all she says. She knits her fingers together and shifts her glance towards her hands.

But Jet is able to speak easily, "You want him to come here?"

"I want her to meet him," she says again.

I feel like I'm intruding, even if I'm just sitting here it's uncomfortable. So, I pick up my plate as I stand up aloofly. I put the dishes in the sink and walk away from the kitchen. As I pass through the living room, I see that Ed's fallen asleep on my yellow couch all wrapped up in blankets. Seeing this, I continue walking to my room.

I lie down on my bed and cover my eyes with my forearm. I wonder why Jet can handle things like this much better than I can. Well, I guess I've never been any good at things like this anyway. Still. Being bothered by Faye is something I—shit. I'm thinking about it again.

My fingertips itch. I lift my arm from over my eyes and stare at my fingers. Why was it that in spite of all the things I've done with women, the one thing I can remember right now is the feel of Faye's spine under my thumb?

"I shouldn't think like this," I say to myself and hide my hand underneath my pillow.

I don't realize that I fall asleep, but I'm suddenly woken up. I glance at the clock. Only thirty minutes have passed. I sit up and rub my eyes for a few seconds. My mouth is really dry and I feel like it's too hot. I sit in bed for a minute before walking to the kitchen to get something to drink.

I had forgotten. Until I saw Faye sitting closely next to Damian, talking to Ed and Jet. I had completely forgotten that he was coming. And when I grasp this, he's already seen me.

"Ah, hello," he says. "Spike, right?"

I nod, noticing he's chosen not to call me Mr. Spiegel. Then, I cover my mouth as I yawn.

"Sorry to intrude like this."

I shrug my shoulders, "That's something you should say to Jet, not me."

He laughs. "I already have…But it's a bit late so I feel I should say this to all of you."

"Well, I just came to get a drink. I'm going to bed already. So whether you're here or not, it doesn't concern me."

"Why so early?" Jet says. "Stay with us for a while."

That. Damned. Bastard.

Because he says this, somehow, I end up stuck in the living room listening to things that I could care less about. Worse yet, I'm sure Jet's doing this on purpose. Just like before Faye left, he's prodding to see my reaction towards her and Damian's relationship.

"It's getting tougher being in this position," Damian says referring to being commissioner. "I'm getting a lot more threats now. And sometimes, they don't stop at that. About two months ago, someone actually managed to shoot me. Fortunately, the vest kept the bullet from harming me."

"That's interesting," I mutter distantly. "Someone shot me at about the same time. Isn't that right Faye?"

She stares at me but doesn't say anything. Instead, Damian asks, "You were shot?"

"Yeah, it was the fault of some clumsy woman."

I lose track of time. Today of all days, I wish I would have decided to stay out late. I'm sure that if I hadn't come back, I would have been able to have a relatively good time loitering the bars. But instead, I'm inevitably watching Damian and Faye.

It's obvious that they're very close. The way they talk. The way they act. It seems to match so well. But if being so in tune with each other showed how much they cared for each other, what did it mean when Faye and I used to be like that? I don't mean the way that they're all over each other. I mean the fact that Faye and I used to have this odd connection too. Understanding each other. Did that really showed how much you cared?

For some reason, we end staying up until one in the morning. Ed's nodding away from time to time until Jet finally tells her to get to bed. She doesn't want to leave claiming that she wants to spend more time with Faye too. Jet tells her that she'll see her again so just to go to bed or otherwise he wouldn't let her see Faye at all. Ed doesn't seem to budge until Faye tells her that she'll be here in the morning too.

When Ed leaves the room, Faye tells Damian, "I want to stay here tonight."

"Why?" he says. "Can't you come home with me and then come back in the morning? Since I had to deal with McClellan's case, I didn't really get to see you this week."

"But I…it's already this late. Going home and coming back would be too much. Knowing Ed, she's sure to wake up first thing in the morning. And we just…"

He takes his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose for a second. Then, he says, "Okay, but in the morning, I'll come pick you up so we can have breakfast together."

Faye gently grabs his glasses away from his hands. "Thank you," she says. After that, she gives his lips a quick kiss before carefully sliding his glasses back into place. Unashamedly. Right in front of Jet….Right in front of me.

"If you're going to go through all that trouble," Jet says, "stay here as well. It really is late anyway."

"I don't know if I could impose like that," Damian says.

Jet smirks, "I'm used to taking people in, so if you don't mind staying at a place like this, it really doesn't matter."

They continue making arrangements while I sit there smoking and thinking, "how am I supposed to feel about this?" It frustrates me. Then, I rise from the couch realizing that I should not even be thinking about that to begin.

Faye walks after Ed, apparently to tell her about the decision. Damian goes to the restroom. So, Jet and I are left alone.

"They're not staying in my room," I say directly.

"I didn't think it was an option to begin," Jet responds. "I guess they'll stay in mine…I need to go clean it up a bit. With Ed sick, I haven't had the chance to even do my bed…Go find Faye and Damian and tell them where they'll be staying."

"I'm your messenger boy now?"

"I'm not your mother either but I end up cooking for you either way."

When Jet leaves, I look around the living room and realize that I'm very tired. I yawn a couple of times before going to find Faye. The ship's hallways are very quiet, so while I walk, it seems I can hear every sound, insignificant as it may be. I go check Ed's room, but she tells me that Faye's already left.

Just before I leave her room, she says to me that she still doesn't like Damian. But that Faye really does seem happy, so it doesn't matter what she thinks of him anymore. I feel bad for her but I only say that it's late and she needs to sleep. She does so willingly and I continue my search.

After a minute or so, I finally hear Faye's voice saying, "We can't do that here."

"I know," Damian says, "But a kiss is fine, isn't it?"

Then, I can clearly hear the contact of their mouths. The little smacking sounds gradually grow faster and louder and I want to turn around and leave. Yet I've become immobile. As they're breathing becomes deeper, I try to focus on something else; but the sounds they're making only amplify as I try to divert them. And, although I can't see anything, I know that his hands have found their way underneath her shirt. Stranger yet, I feel like I have the right to stop him.

I don't have the right, I continuously repeat to myself. But even as this echoes through my mind, I finally become mobile as I walk closer to them, making sure that my steps are evidently audible. By the time I turn the corner, they're about a foot away from each other. Faye's face is all red and Damian looks, like always, composed.

"You're staying in Jet's room," I tell Faye and watch her get a little redder under my stare. Waiting to hear nothing from her, I turn around as if I didn't notice anything and continue to my room.

I try to fall asleep, but anytime I do, it seems like the only thing I can see is Faye being with Damian. I can't help but think that maybe, just as I'm thinking about this, they are continuing what I had interrupted. I hate when my mind betrays me like this. I'm tired. I want to sleep. But I don't want to close my eyes. Even though they're much too far away for me to be able to hear anything, the sounds Faye had made earlier resonate in my ears. I cover my head with my pillow, as if that would somehow stop the sounds, and close my eyes tightly. I force myself to think of something completely unrelated, and only then, I'm able to fall asleep.

But in the end, I end up dreaming about Faye.

In my dream, there is no Damian and it's my lips that are touching hers. It's my hands that are roaming freely over her skin as her arms wrap around my neck and her fingers tangle in my hair. I dream that we're in my room and that I'm kissing her thighs, closer and closer to the part of her I want. All the little noises, she's making them for me as my hands wander over the soft parts of her. I dream about the pulsating of her body and the pressure of her legs around my waist, the pins in her hair falling with our momentum and her nails digging deeper and deeper into my back.

And then I wake up.

After that, I'm unable to fall asleep again. I know it's only a dream, but it's gotten my heart racing and my mind in a blur. And it gets worse; particularly when I wonder what it would feel like if I could have my impulses become a reality.

I lay in bed for a few minutes, breathing profoundly and trying to regain my consciousness. Once I'm able to calm down, and since it's already six in the morning, I get up and out of my bed. I feel the strong urge to do something, like there's too much pent up energy that I need to get rid off. I stretch a bit and then begin to spar alone. I continue doing this for over an hour. I keep my arms and legs moving even as the sweat slides heavily over my skin. My muscles are aching. But I don't want to stop yet. If I do, I'm anxious of whatever it is I will feel afterwards.

Then, my luck has it that the first person I see this morning is Damian. He's already dressed and he's cleaning the lenses of his glasses. He comes to a stop when he sees me in the room. Suddenly he asks, "Can you answer a question for me?"

I don't respond. Instead, I continue hitting the air, harder now. Trying to maintain my mind at a reasonable stability.

He chuckles before politely saying, "It's good to know you don't like me. Because, I honestly can't stand you either."

"Good," I respond sardonically, "But if you want to ask something, standing there like an idiot won't do much."

"Ah, that's right," he responds with an air of superiority that irks me, "I have a lot of things to do with Faye today…but…I want to know…She talks quite a bit about you guys. And you. You come up pretty often. I don't want to make much of it, but seeing you last night…I've been thinking about it again, and I can't help but wonder why she's like that."

"Have you figured it out?" I say shortly.

"Seriously?" He says annoyed, "that's all you can say."

I try not to laugh but I'm thoroughly enjoying seeing him slowly getting upset. I say dismissively, "Be glad I'm humoring you."

He sights heavily, as if he was trying to organize himself again. Then, he says contemptuously. "Have you slept with her?"

I smirk.

This was a wonderful opportunity to spite him. Just as I'm about to respond, I remember Ed saying how happy Faye is now. I shouldn't get involved anymore and just deny the question. But even then, I'm unable of answering definitively, "Does that matter now? She's with you after all."

"I need to know," Damian says in the tone that seems reserved for his commissioner duties.

"Ask her," I tell him.

"I did," he says bluntly. "And she said…'does that matter now? I'm with you after all'…Do you think I would ask you if she had answered me?"

I stop exercising. After a second, I begin stretching my arms. If what Damian says is true, I can't help but question why Faye answered in such a way. I wonder, why didn't she just tell him the truth?

I look at Damian. The way he's standing, his eyes, even the way the corners of his mouth are, makes it obvious that he's not lying. I look out the window and continue stretching.

"Did you sleep with her?" Damian asks again.

There must be a reason why Faye didn't deny it. I want to ruin whatever she was planning by telling him the truth. Except, rather than seeing her angry, I really want to see how Damian would react. I decide, if Faye isn't going to be sincere with him, neither will I.

"Yes," I lie without hesitation.

I enjoy seeing him as he looses his self-control, even if he is able to somewhat recuperate quickly. Though he appears calm, I can see his eyebrows straining to remain relaxed. "Then, when was the last time?" he asks. When I don't answer he repeats himself forcefully.

I tell him, "You said one question." I pick up my workout towel and wipe the sweat off of my face and neck. Then, I begin walking away, "I've already answered it, so…"

I go into the bathroom and start up the shower. As I let the water run to get warm, I begin undressing. The sweat has made my shirt cling to my skin, so getting rid of it feels great. The air cools down my skin quickly. My muscles are tired, but all the exercise managed to loosen the tension that was there before. I step into the shower and let the water pound against my back. Somehow, I feel very relaxed.

Afterwards, I lock myself inside my room again. Having wasted all the energy I had, I feel very tired and end up falling asleep. I don't dream of anything and I wake up at around eleven. Since I didn't have breakfast, I can feel the acid burning in the pit of my stomach. But, though it's eleven, I can still hear Faye's voice from afar. I control my hunger and decide not to leave my room just yet; I wait until I'm certain Faye and Damian won't be here anymore.

When I finally step out, the ship is very quiet and the only noise is coming from the kitchen. As I walk closer, I can smell the scent of broiling beef and freshly sliced peppers. I sit down at the table and start picking at some of the dishes that Jet's already finished.

Just by being awake, my mind is driving me insane. Even eating isn't distracting me enough. When I think I'll finally be able to stop thinking, Jet says distantly, "Maybe we should have them come over more often. It seems to make Ed happy."

"It doesn't," I tell him thoughtlessly. He turns away from the stove to face me. Although he's looking at me, I don't bother to look back. I say calmly, "She still doesn't like him. She's just being that way because of Faye."

"But at least she gets to see her," then he stops speaking and sits on the table across from me. "…Does it bother you to see Faye like that?"

I stay silent. If I don't say anything, the thoughts won't come back. If I don't answer him, I won't have to deal with knowing that there's something about me I don't understand.

But Jet keeps pushing it. He sees me glancing at him and then says, "If it doesn't, I don't see why they wouldn't be able to stay here again…So, does it?"

I decide to go along with him instead of making things more difficult. I answer, "Sure."

Except, I feel that as the words leave my lips, something inside of me breaks. All the things I'd been trying to avoid, the feelings, the thoughts, they all flood my head. It's not supposed to be this way, but now I feel everything that I'd been so carefully suppressing.

For once, I sense as my rationale disappears and I'm covered with the feelings that I'd managed to keep under control. Then, I realize everything. I notice that I'm upset that Faye is so happy being with Damian. And that I'm jealous that she does things with him that she has never done with me. And I'm angry that she's become someone I don't want her to be. But above all, I feel like this should matter to her. That she should think about me.

As I'm drowning in and hating my newfound feelings, Jet's voice seems to echo faintly when he speaks, "Fine what?"

And as I remain in this odd state, I don't realize when I openly respond, "It does…It bothers me." I hear him chuckle lightly and suddenly I comprehend the extent of what I've just admitted. I look up at Jet and pretend that I'm at peace with what I've spoken and continue by saying, "I'm sure you know this, so just stop pretending that you don't."

Jet doesn't say anything else, but I can tell he's trying to hide his smile. After a second of hesitation, he lets a smirk come over his lips.

"What are you smiling so stupidly about?" I tell him bitterly, detesting him right now, knowing that he's been trying to get something like this out of me since the first time we spoke about Faye.

"It feels good to be right. I always thought you had a thing for her. But sometimes, I think you even fooled me because I would think that I was just imagining things."

With what I've already admitted, I feel worse as I say, "I don't have a thing for her."

I think Jet will continue to laugh at my idiocy, but he seems very sober about the situation. He speaks seriously and gently, as if he was trying to tell me it was okay to feel this way. "If you're going to admit that seeing her with someone else bothers you, wouldn't it be better if you just admit everything."

Even with him saying this, I feel very insecure; like I'm a stray cat under a park bench that he's trying to lure out. I lick my lips to take up time. If I admit it, would it change the situation? Will it make me feel any better?

"I…" I begin. But then, as I try to come to terms with everything, I realize something. "Does it matter. She's with Damian. So whether I–so it doesn't matter…"

Jet doesn't speak again and I don't try to continue explaining or denying anything else. We stay in silence listening to the sounds of the food cooking. A pot on the stove begins boiling over. Jet and I sit quietly even as the water topples over the top. Then, Jet finally rises and slowly begins cleaning up the mess.

I sit despondently, filing my thoughts into order again. I reach over to a plate of rice that Jet has served and take a piece between my fingers. I place it in my mouth and slowly crumble it into bits. I continue waiting for the rest of the meal to be finished while eating single pieces of rice. But even after we finish lunch, even after days pass, even after Faye and Damian celebrate their anniversary, I can't get rid of these thoughts and feelings anymore.

*** * * Ch. 5 End, Continued on Ch. 6 * * ***

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><p><strong>Updates:<strong> Everything seems to be going well, the update should be next Friday.

**About ****the ****titles:** I really like this song. Since it's Japanese (and I don't know Japanese), I was afraid it wouldn't match well enough (content wise). But, in the end, I decided the song was close enough and way too cool to pass up.

**Interesting ****fact:** If I remember correctly, this is the first work that I've written where Spike 'comes to terms' with what he's feeling so early in the story. It provided quite a different view, so I'm glad I tried it out. Hopefully, it will be interesting for you too.

_Reviews are encouraged. Laters!_


	6. The Denial Twist

_Sorry it was late a day, I forgot I had finals to take this Friday. Anyway, enjoy!_

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><p><strong>* * * Ch. 6 – THE DENIAL TWIST (The White Stripes) * * *<strong>

There's something wrong with me.

My thoughts seem to be contradictory to everything else around me. Enough time has passed for me to understand that things really are well between Faye and Damian. But even with that, I feel a certain possessiveness; a kind of precedence that I should be granted. I'm undeserving of any of it, I know that too. But I don't care.

Besides, it's not like I can actually act out on any of these inclinations. No matter how much things have changed for me, none of it can take any effect. Nothing has changed for Faye. Nothing has changed for Damian. So, whatever it is that I feel, it simply becomes irrelevant, a spare factor that can be discarded without affecting anything at all.

At least I'm used to things being this way. Having gone through this before makes it much easier this time around. Not to say that it actually changes something. It just makes it easier for me to accept that I'm wrong and that there's really nothing I can do about anything.

I still hate it. But if I'm angry with anyone, it's me. After all, I'm the one that ended up choosing this of all times to realize everything. It's me who couldn't hold on to someone just because she's gone from my life. It's me who dismissed Faye from the very beginning…That's why, everything is simply my fault. I didn't learn from my mistakes and I'm repeating them again.

Even if it isn't something I want to do, because this is happening again, I'm becoming conscious of things about me that I had ignored before. Like, I don't know why I just realized that I'm such an emotional masochist. Even though I understand my position, fully aware that what I'm feeling is wrong, I still can't stop myself from thinking this way. And as if thinking about that wasn't enough distress, I've also noticed that I have this bad habit of thinking about Faye and Julia in relevance to each other.

If I'm thinking that I don't remember Julia's voice at all anymore, my next thought is to think about whether I can still recall the way Faye says my name. If I check that saved voicemail I have from Faye, my immediate response is to wonder why I haven't erased Julia's last phone number from my contacts…Stupid things like that.

I want to stop. I don't want to think about Faye without thinking about Julia. I don't want to think about Julia without thinking about Faye. I'm not certain as to why I'm automatically doing this. Is it because I'm realizing that things with Faye are just about as complicated as things were with Julia? I don't think that's it necessarily. Somehow, unlike with Julia, I'm already convinced that what I'm feeling for Faye is a waste.

I dial voicemail and play the saved messages until I hear the one I want. "Spike," Faye's voice says, "I need to talk to you…uh…call me when you get a chance."

I had received this message about a month ago. Though she initially just wanted to know whether Ed was still with us or if she had gone back to Earth, we spent a long time talking, or rather arguing, or something like that. Damian had been out that night, so it felt like there was no Damian at all. That time, it felt like it was okay for me to think about her that way.

I shouldn't be so pleased remembering something like this, but it's become inevitable. Whenever I feel depressed, I've developed this bad habit of listening to that message. It's an idiotic thing to do, but recalling that Faye and I can still talk like we used to, it somehow manages to make me feel better.

If Jet knew about this, he'd really think I'm pathetic then. As if it wasn't bad enough that he already knows what I'm trying to hide. I really hope no one else finds out about it. That voicemail and that conversation may be the only things that I have from Faye that are strictly mine.

That afternoon, as I'm listening to the voicemail again, I receive a call with an unknown ID. "Hello," I answer.

There is no response. The only thing I can hear from the other end of the line is background noise. People shuffling about. A dog barking. I hold the communicator closely hoping that maybe I'll be able to hear something indicative of someone. But there's nothing.

"I'm hanging up," I say distantly and, hearing no reply, end the transmission.

I place the communicator on the bedside stand and close my eyes. Not even five seconds pass when it rings again. I keep my eyes shut and wait for it to ring a few more times before I stretch out my arm and reach for it. The caller ID shows that it's from the same unknown number as before. I stare at the screen, letting the ringing continue until it stops. Then, I maintain my eyes fixed on the screen until it fades to black. When this happens, I let the communicator fall clumsily on my chest and I shut my eyes once more.

After a while, it feels like the weight of the communicator imposes too heavily on my chest. I lift it up and place it besides me with my fingers loosely wrapped around. I somewhat expect for it to ring again, but it doesn't. Then, as I'm thinking about the number, I notice that the area code matches one near where Faye lives.

Is it her? I have the urge to listen to that voicemail again, but I deny myself the chance to. For my sake, maybe it would be best if I deleted it. I lie on my bed, still waiting for something. By the time the communicator's body becomes as warm as the touch of my hands, I decide to dial back.

I hear the distant ringing and, after just two, the call is accepted. However, no one answers and instead of saying anything, I just hold the communicator against my ear. This time, if I listen closely enough, I can definitely make out someone's soft breathing. I keep listening, hearing the breathing, and waiting in silence.

"…I need you…," Faye says airily.

My blood freezes.

It takes me a second to feel the warmth pulsating through my body again. Once I'm able to put those odd feelings aside, I remark sarcastically, "I know you do, but that's not new."

She laughs quietly on the other side. Hearing this response from her, I have to smile a little.

"No, I'm being serious," she says in a tone much more befitting her. "I'm stuck. Or lost…I don't really know how to put it." Then, she adds a bit hastily, "I tried reaching Jet, but he wouldn't answer."

"Yeah…" I respond, "He's working on the boiler so he wouldn't hear anything."

"I see…" she says before another few seconds of silence pass. Then, she finally continues, "I'm at a park. But I don't know what it's called. Or at least, not exactly." I don't understand what she is expecting me to do, so I ask her. She says, "I don't know. Have Ed trace the call and figure out where I'm at."

"Fine, let me go find her." I keep the communicator stuck to my ear and walk to the living room where I had seen Ed earlier. Once I find her, I tell her to locate Faye. She does so quickly enough and then I tell Faye where she is. The call was being transmitted through a public phone in the northwest section of Silver Lake Park.

"Ah, so it's that park," she says, "I didn't realize it."

"How can you not realize something like that?" I ask her mockingly. "You've been living there for a year now."

"Shut up," she says. "Besides, I've never actually visited this park until now. And there's another one really close by so I wasn't sure." Then she just stays quiet while I listen carefully to her breathing pattern. "Are you guys nearby?" she finally asks.

"Somewhat."

"What sort of answer is that? Where are you guys at?"

"Uh…The next town over."

"How come you didn't tell me?" she says quickly. Then, she slows down her speech as she says, "I could have dropped by." But even with that change, the bitterness in her voice is still apparent.

Usually Jet was the one to keep in touch with her, so why didn't he tell her? Is Jet doing this for me? It feels like it may be. But, it's impossible for me to say that Jet was trying to save me the discomfort of seeing her and Damian together.

I don't answer anything and we end up having to let time erase the awkwardness again.

She breaks the silence by saying, "…come find me…"

Now I'm the one confused. I try asking her about it, but then I realize that I'm incapable of speaking while I continue processing whether or not I really know why Jet hadn't told her our location. Hearing no response from me, she must have felt inclined to explain.

"We fought," she says.

"You fought?" I repeat taken aback. Hearing it makes me forget what else I was thinking about.

"Just come find me."

I try not to sound hasty as I answer, "Fine, but you owe me."

"Fine," she says. And then I hear the transmission ended.

As I put my communicator away, I smirk a little. Then, I see Ed staring at me and realize she has been doing so for a while. She takes Ein away from her lap and stands up. She peers cautiously at my face as if there is something strange stuck against it. As she walks closer to me, her eyes become a bit mischievous.

"What?" I tell her giving a step back.

She smiles widely and says in a sing-song voice, "Noooothin'." But somehow, I have the feeling that I must have had reacted in a way that now she has given her enough evidence to ignore all the times I've told her I have nothing for Faye.

Suddenly, she dashes past me and starts running towards the boiler room. I don't know why, but I nearly chase behind her. I stop, realizing that it wouldn't make any difference if she told Jet something he already knew. Instead, I take the opportunity to leave the Bebop without having to explain anything to anyone.

I feel an odd anxiousness through the trip and even as I begin to walk through the park. The night is dark, but the lamps of the park make it seem otherwise. There is no wind and the air feels stuffy. I carry my coat on my arm, it being too hot to wear at the moment. I walk slowly, paying more attention to the path then the people around me. I glance at them momentarily, and dismiss them very quickly afterwards. When I walk through the area that Faye had called from, I spot the public phone easily. I make my way towards it hoping that I'll get a better idea of where Faye is by standing there. But then I hear my name being called.

When I turn around, I see Faye sitting on a bench right across from me. I didn't notice her before because I almost don't recognize her. She's changed her hair, it reaches her shoulders now and she has side swept bangs. It's a very normal hairstyle that somehow makes her match Damian even more. The longer I look at her, the more different she seems. Except for her eyes, tonight, I don't know why it is, but it seems like her eyes are still the same as before she met Damian.

"It took you a while to get here…" she says still sitting on the bench. I walk closer to her and she moves the stray hair of her bangs away from her eyes. I sit next to her on the other end of the bench. "You lied to Damian too," she continues in a more serious tone.

Even though it's been well over a year, I know what she's talking about immediately. "I didn't mean anything by it," I lie.

"I really don't care…even if we had done something, he shouldn't be bothered by it now."

It's strange for her to bring it up since it's been so long. I wonder if she just found out. Then, I realize something, "Is that why you fought?"

"No…that's not why. I just remembered I had to bring it up."

I light up a cigarette and begin smoking. "So what are you doing here anyway?...And I guess, what am I doing here too…"

"I don't know," she tells me. "I just didn't know what else to do. This morning I walked out of the car while we were arguing. It was in a stoplight so it was an easy way for me to get away from him. I roamed around and ended up in this park…I've been here since the afternoon."

"Why do something stupid like that?" I ask.

"Because I don't feel like going home and seeing him," she says bluntly. "And, while I cooled off, I came up with every ridiculous what-if scenario. So now I've scared myself into not doing anything. Like, since he has the means to trace calls or credit card use, I didn't want to risk him finding me…even though I'm sure he wouldn't do something like that to begin. Anyway, I've been doing nothing but sitting here. Then, I realized someone forgot their telephone card and so I decided to call you."

"So what now?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll stay at the Bebop for a while."

"Wouldn't he be able to find you easily then?"

"Probably. But I don't think he would go there…He doesn't like you, you know."

I smirk.

"And you're so pleased by that," she says with an air of frustration, "As if lying to him wasn't enough."

"I wouldn't have lied to him if he hadn't asked such strange things."

Just then I get a call from Jet. When I answer, he asks me if I've found Faye and if everything was all right. I tell him that everything's fine. He says that I shouldn't bother going back because he's on his way as well. He says that it would take a while, but that he'd be at the usual docks.

"Spike," Faye says distantly after I end the transmission with Jet. "For…how much do…" I stare at her trying to figure out what she's trying to ask. But I suppose doing so makes her even more unable. "Nevermind," she interrupts herself.

I lock my eyes away from her to ensure that I won't be staring at her for too long. We sit in silence. For me, at least smoking makes it feel like I'm doing something. But besides me, Faye is sitting as poised as a statue.

All of a sudden, she turns to face me. I feel her eyes boring into me and I decide to look back at her. However, out of all the things that she could have possibly said, she asks, "When was the last time you slept with someone?"

I glance away and evade it by saying, "That's not something you should be asking. You're just like him, asking strange things."

I hope that that will be the end of that, but she seems persistent. She says, "Just tell me."

"No."

She keeps quiet for a minute, but then she starts again. "Seriously Spike, it's not like it's believable you've been abstinent for so long…so the last time, when was it?"

"I'm not telling you," I state clearly. "What I do is none of your business…and why are you so curious anyway?"

She bites her lips together and then seems to arrive at a conclusion. She says, "If you tell me first then I'll tell you why I'm asking."

Regardless of my feelings, it's not like I'm cheating on her, so there shouldn't be a reason for me to feel guilty after I tell her. Besides I've become curious to know why she's asking, maybe if I tell her, I'll be able to figure out what's going on. "…five…six days ago, Thursday night I think."

She asks quickly, "And before that?"

"I don't know," I say suddenly becoming self-conscious, "I think it was like a week and a half before that…maybe less."

She turns away from me and covers her smile as she chuckles. "Ah," she says jokingly, "having heard this…you're not a saint anymore."

I answer easily, "I was never a saint to begin…why did you need to know anyway?"

"…I was just curious…because there was never any sign that you did anything…" she says staring at her hands.

"Liar."

She looks up and says, "It's the truth isn't it? You're always so underhanded it's impossible to tell."

"I never tried to hide anything. So that's not a reasonable response…" I repeat myself, "Why did you need to know?"

I see the blush creeping over her face, but I don't remove my sight from her. I know that she's always been bad about keeping secrets when I confront her like this. Finally, she awkwardly says, "We haven't…in…like a month."

I laugh, "He can't?"

"No!" she says suddenly slapping my arm, "It's me who doesn't want to!" Just as she finishes her sentence, her eyes become wide and her face turns entirely red. She turns away again, pretending to be interested in a stray cat cutting across the sidewalk.

I contain my laughter, but I can't hide the fact of how overly satisfied I am because I can't stop smiling. I didn't expect it, so I can't respond because I don't know what to say.

After a while, Faye glares at me with eyes of disgust. "Tsk. What an insensitive idiot. Sitting there, smiling at himself…Aren't you ashamed? Being so amused by something that's troubling me so much?"

I glance at her, for the first time really noticing how stiffly she's sitting. The smile gradually fades from my face. I remember how I've forced her to listen to what I've had to say before and decide not to avoid whatever is troubling her. "That's not it necessarily…I just…what am I supposed to say to something like that?"

She nearly whispers, "I don't know…Ordinarily, wouldn't it be something to make me feel better?"

"You should tell Jet then. You know I can't do things like that…" I watch her bite her lips again as her eyebrows knit together. Seeing her like this, I can't just ignore her. "I don't even get what's going on," I say.

She turns to stare at her hands. "If I tell you...will you say something to help?"

"I can't guarantee anything," I respond honestly, "…but if it helps just getting it off of your chest..."

"I'm so tired of thinking about this by myself." She exhales heavily. "I guess if you know it won't matter." She thinks for a minute before she speaks again. "For a while, I've noticed that Damian has gotten into the habit of speaking about our future…That's odd, isn't it?"

But she doesn't let me answer.

"Because, the way he talks it's like we're building a family. But doesn't that mean that I would be a mother? That's ridiculous right? I can't be a mom!" It seems, the more she talks, the faster the words leave her lips. "I know he's used to making decisions quickly and everything, but something like that shouldn't be considered like everything else. It just seems like too much…You know, I never intended to become like this with him. When he called me that first time, it was because he wanted an undercover bodyguard for some big social gala. He was paying me really well so I said that I would do it. But that same night he asked me to do it again and then I don't know how I ended up living with him rather than being his bodyguard. Which I didn't care about until he started talking about this family idea. It's funny! Because I'm not suited to be a mother, right?"

The way she asks this, it makes me uncertain of whether she wants to hear something positive or negative. Instead of answering her, I ask, "Since you said this had been going on for a while, why are you worried about it now?"

She stays quiet and avoids my eyes.

"Faye," I say.

"Because I began to worry. That's why I stopped wanting to do things with him. But two days ago he became pretty upset and said he didn't want to rely on someone other than me for that. I told him that I didn't care whether he did it with someone else. Of course, it was a lie. I wanted to be spoiled and have him tell me he would wait however long I needed. But instead, I only made it worse because he stormed out of the apartment. I followed him to see if he really had left…but I found him in the lobby. He was sitting away from everyone reading a newspaper. At the time, something like that, it was what I wanted, so it was supposed to make me happy right? Because he didn't go looking for someone else and tried to be patient for me."

"I suppose."

"But it didn't. It just made me even more nervous. I nearly panicked when I realized that I didn't know whether I could be as serious, because even after what happened today, I still love him this much."

Everything that Faye had said beforehand completely leaves my mind that instant. Everything except her saying she loved him. Because I already knew it, I didn't expect it to disturb me so much. But hearing it from her, it's something completely different. I feel numb. Yet, because my subconscious tells me that I need to pretend I don't care, I say, "at least you can say that much."

"Spike, I don't think I have any choice but to follow his plans now."

I glance at her and notice her face straining to remain static. Seeing her like that, I wish I could force some reaction from her. "Faye?" I ask quietly, even if I'm inexplicably angry, resentful, and nervous all at once.

"I know I'm not suited to being a mother, so now I'm regretting every time we ever made love." She says frustrated, "I should have been more careful so I wouldn't have to question myself about it now." At the end of her sentence, she's still sitting so perfectly, but her hands are clenched and her eyes are focused on something I can't even pin point.

If she had stated this from the very beginning, I would have understood much faster why she was so troubled. Faye doesn't say anything else and the time allows me to process what I've heard. When I'm sure I've understood, that's when I stop feeling anything at all. I don't know whether it's a conditioned response for men to ask this but, but it's the only thing I can say, "Are…you sure? Have you checked yet?"

She shakes her head, still staring at that space I can't see. "Even though I know I should …I'm…" she says calmly, "horribly afraid to find out."

We sit on the bench without saying anything. For about five minutes, I have nothing to do but analyze her situation. I expected that understanding all of these things would bring some sort of response from me, but I still don't feel anything. Of course, I'm not happy. But I'm not mad either. I'm not angry. I'm not jealous. I'm…nothing.

I stand up from the bench and watch her as she jolts from the unexpected movement. She's still sitting there, frozen. "Get up," I tell her. My voice has become nearly sterile but I don't even try to mask it. She doesn't respond and I have to repeat myself. When she finally stands, I begin walking away from the bench. She follows me and asks where we're going. "The pharmacy…a convenience store. Someplace like that." I say, "Right now, it's not helping you any not to know."

I hear her steps stop, but I don't look back. She says, "I guess, it's not something I can avoid much longer…" After about two seconds, I hear the rhythmic echo of her heels again. "Then what—"

I don't know what she's going to say, but I interrupt her and continue in that monotone voice, "Then…speak to Damian…Even if you're mad at him. Everything. You should have told him to begin."

"I can't," she answers calmly, "I know you don't get why I'm doing this. And it's not like I haven't tried telling him about it before…I just…I can't."

That's the last thing that we say until we reach the store over half and hour later. Even when we're at the entrance, we don't say anything. She glances at me shortly and is about to head inside when I pull her back for a reason even I don't know. I take my hand away from her and think up of an excuse for having acted as I did. I hand her my wallet hastily and tell her to buy me something to drink while she's there. After she goes in, I light one of my cigarettes. I wait, hoping that soon I'll stop feeling like everything I'm doing is purely mechanical.

I look through the windows and watch as Faye finishes the payment at the counter. Then, I watch her as she walks into the hallway under the restrooms sign. It seems like time has never moved so slowly when I suddenly feel a knot building in my chest. It makes me grimace and I realize that I must have unconsciously suppressed everything. But now that I'm alone, it starts to get to me.

I take long drags from my cigarette, carefully analyzing the taste of the nicotine in my mouth. I force myself to think about the flavor of the smoke as it envelops my mouth. But there are too many things going through my mind and the pain in my chest keeps growing while the numbness of my brain spreads to my arms and legs.

After about eight minutes, I wonder why it's taking her so long and I catch myself forgetting the windows and simply glancing at the entrance. I don't know whether I'm doing this because I'm considering entering or if it's because I'm too anxious for Faye to come out. I can feel the frustration building up on my face and I have to rub my hands over my features to clear everything away. Even if it's momentary, it seems to work.

As I take my hands away from my face for a second time, I hear Faye's heels. I turn to the entrance and watch her as she walks closer to me. Then, I notice that the more she approaches me, the less I can feel again. I look into her eyes and try to see if I can discern anything from it. But I can't.

Even though I'm the one who brought her here, I don't feel like I have the right to ask her anything. But I feel like if I don't say something, anything, she won't ever speak again. As it turns out, the only thing to leave my lips is her name.

Faye locks her eyes on mine, but, suddenly, gazes curiously at the ground for an instant. Then, she wipes her left cheek and stares at her hand, "Again with this?" she asks quietly. She glances at me with a look of disbelief and I can see her emotions beginning to seep through.

As she's about to clear her eyes again, I stop her hands. She looks back at me and laughs awkwardly. My blood feels thick and it seems my heart isn't strong enough to keep it running through my veins. "Faye," I say, slowly removing my hands from her skin.

She quickly hides her face behind my wallet and a can of cold coffee. I have the strong urge to push her hands aside so I can uncover her face. But just as I feel I can't restrain myself anymore, she says ecstatically "I'm so relieved!…I'm a horrible person, right? Feeling so happy I can't stop myself from crying."

She extends her hands and places the wallet and coffee a few inches away from my chest. I don't move. Seeing this, she mischievously pushes the cold can against my cheek. When she does, I'm suddenly forced to respond. I take the coffee and open it up saying, "You do this even after I helped you?" Then, I take my wallet away from her hands and put it in my pocket, just to make sure she won't conceal her expression from me again.

She says, "Sorry, I involved you in something stupid…"

Through all this, I can't move my focus away from her, even if doing so only makes my chest hurt more. I take a drink of coffee simply to do something more than stare. "You know," I tell her quietly, "you're still crying."

"…I know," she says smiling. Then, she holds her hand out, as if asking for a drink too. I pretend to hand her the can reluctantly and she takes a drink.

I watch her, the tears sliding down her face. While I take the can back, I finally say, "Stop…People are going to think I'm the one making you cry."

"Ah, but won't that be interesting to see?" she says clearing her eyes. She looks at her hands and grimaces at a black, eyeliner smear over her left palm. "My face must look terrible."

When she says that, I feel like things are okay after all. "That's what you're worried about…" I tell her mockingly, "Doesn't it seem a bit irrelevant now?"

"Why?" she says in the tone that I'm most familiar with.

I smirk. "You should really stop crying…Or at least, don't make it so noticeable." I hold the can tightly, restraining myself from clearing her eyes.

She wipes her tears and fans her face with her hands. "I don't have anything to cover my face…" Then, she reaches out towards me before saying, "let me borrow your coat."

I twist my torso so that her hands only manage to touch my shoulder. "That's just going to make it more obvious. Use something else." I face her again and take another drink.

"Fine," she says, "But don't complain about it."

I respond, "Why would I com—" then her forehead's on my chest, her hands on my back "—plain." I stand still, more from uncertainty then anything else, the coffee can awkwardly suspended inches from my mouth. "I'm not something else…," I say much softer than I had intended. I take another drink and swallow before saying with a more confident tone, "besides, it probably looks more obvious than if I'd let you borrow my coat."

She laughs and pinches the skin over my left shoulder blade.

I jump a bit, "Hey!"

I feel her balmy breath through the fabric of my shirt as she says, "If you're really that worried about looking awkward then you shouldn't just stand there like an idiot."

"Seriously?" I say incredulously, "As if I haven't done enough for you today."

"Just shut up and let me cry in peace for a little longer," she retorts. "Whether you like it or not, you've helped me be this happy, so don't ruin it for me or I swear I'll do something to make you regret it."

I don't tell her anything. Instead, I try as casually as I can to let my arms gently wrap around her shoulders. I know it's wrong for me to do this, but I can't deny that right now I really want to be holding her.

Although she's still being very quiet, I can feel the warmth of her tears building on my shirt. Since I know she's crying from relief, I don't feel guilty feeling so pleased being the one holding her. Time goes by much faster in this strange state. It doesn't even take three minutes when I can tell that Faye's stopped crying. Holding her like this is unnecessary so I hesitantly move away from her. Even before my arms have completely left her, she says, "Do you think that Jet and Ed are here now?"

"Probably," I respond, deciding not to mention the tearstains she's left on my shirt.

Faye clears the area around her eyes and says, "We should go eat somewhere before going back." Then, she steals the coffee from my hands. She takes a drink before saying, "Something that has really good wine would be nice. I haven't drank anything lately."

As I put my coat on to cover the stains, I tell her, "Why? You're fixated with the phobia of having Damian track you…In the end, I'm the one who's going to get stuck with the bill."

I take the coffee from her and she sighs, "I'll pay…we just have to make sure to run back to Bebop."

I smirk, "You still do things like that?"

"Not recently," she confesses. "But that would make it that much better! We can eat all the expensive things and as much of it as we want. Wouldn't that make up for all the stupid things I made you do today?"

"You just want to spite Damian," I say, "Yet you still haven't said why you are so mad at him anyway? Is it really just because he wants to build a family with you?"

"I nearly forgot," she says, "didn't I? But I did mention it a little…To put it simply…It's because today, I clearly saw him and Kat kissing and he lied to me about it…I don't think they've done anything else…but it's kind of a petty thing, isn't it? Anyway, that's why I wanted to know if I was making him wait too much. But I guess, I ended up telling you everything but what you wanted to hear…Well, let's go already, I'm starving."

Since she is set on the idea and I'm feeling bitter towards Damian as well, I decide to just go along with it. We find an expensive restaurant, but end up waiting over one hour to get a table. It's still a bit awkward to talk casually, so we only make conversation once in a while. When we are seated, we order the most expensive items of the menu. In the end, we aren't able to finish it all. But as far as meals went, other than the events beforehand, it was probably the best one I've had in nearly five years.

The best part of the night is making our way to the Bebop. After paying, we rush out of the restaurant as if we hadn't paid at all. It reminds me of before the time when I screwed up by telling her all those things and leaving. Before the time I realized I felt this way towards her…

It was much better then. If I had remained not noticing anything, I wouldn't care that tonight I inevitably learned that she is in love with someone else. I should have never even considered that I did feel something. If I had denied it like I did before, maybe then tonight wouldn't be so bittersweet for me.

When we're walking near the docks I call Jet to find out where the ship is. I tell him that I'm close and that Faye is with me. Then, I ask him if Ed's said anything strange. He says, "That's not something strange necessarily, but yeah, she told me about it." I ask him what she said but instead he answers me with, "Don't worry about it. I took care of it and she promised not to tell."

"But she knows," I say glancing at Faye who is pretending to be interested on the lamps by the sidewalk.

"Yeah, but I think she knew even before I did…Like I said, don't worry about it—No Ed, don't take it out of the oven yet!"

Ed laughs, "But it looks so fluffy!"

"What the hell is all that racket?" I ask.

Jet sighs, "Ed's trying to make a cake for Faye. I better go make sure she doesn't mess up."

"Alright," I say ending the call.

"…I hate that I don't know what you guys are talking about," Faye says distantly. "But I guess I should expect that…"

"…it's just something stupid…"

"Even if you say that, I still don't know what it is."

But I can't tell her.

Instead I mention that we're really close to getting to the ship. She doesn't say anything else and neither do I. Once we arrive, Ed jumps from behind Jet and nearly tackles Faye to the ground. She tells her that she's baking and drags her away into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Jet asks.

"Why not ask her instead?" I tell him but he only laughs. "Also, you should pay more attention to your communicator."

"Why? Did you call me earlier or something? I checked my phone and I didn't see any missed calls for today."

I don't answer and it takes a bit for me to speak. My mind is too tired and I don't want to think about anything anymore. "…Whatever, I'm going to sleep now."

"What's the matter? You don't want any cake?"

"Nah," I say making my way to my room.

For the next few days, Faye seems to sleep a lot. Or at least, I see her very little. Apparently, the only thing she does all day is eat and sleep. Other than that, I only see her while I leave the bathroom after my morning shower since she is usually the next one in. However, it only happens for about four days. After that, she begins waking up earlier than usual and using the bathroom before me.

Although I have to change my schedule a bit, I also have to admit it's really not an inconvenience. This is the same routine she used when she lived here, where for about six days every month, Faye would shower instead of bathe. I know that she's repeating this pattern again because she smells like Ed's watermelon body wash rather than her pineapple bubble bath.

After a week passes, I expect that Faye will leave again. But she doesn't. Instead, she's still sitting on my yellow couch, taking up my space. When I see her sitting there, I tell her to move. She rolls her eyes as she carefully files her nails and says that there's still enough room left for me to sit. I do so a bit displeased and then notice something unusual.

"You smell like a guy," I tell her. It's like me, to be more specific, but that's an odd thing to say.

"Yeah, I got tired of smelling like watermelon."

"Then go buy something you like instead of using other people's things."

She says dismissively, "Jet's going to go buy groceries today so I already told him to get me something different."

But it's not like I hate it. In reality, I like her smelling this way rather than the vanilla scent Damian prefers. I like that if she smells like me, then I can pretend that she's mine instead of his.

Since I've just come back from a bounty hunt, I tell her that I want to lie down. She says that I should go somewhere else instead followed by a definitive, "I'm not moving."

"Then don't complain," I say ignoring her suggestion and fully resting on my couch, my legs placed over her lap.

She hits my shins and tries to shake my legs off, but seeing no response, gives up and files her nails again. After a second she says, "I'm only allowing this because of the stupid things you know."

"Sure," I say smirking.

I feel very possessive, to an extent childish. Somehow, I believe that by doing this, she will remain there until I wake up. Because I want to deny that she's told me she loves Damian; and I want to tell Damian that she was in love with me before him. I want to think that she won't leave the Bebop again and that she's here because she wants to. But above all, I want to pretend that all of this somehow means that she will feel something for me again.

*** * * Ch. 6 End, Continued on Ch. 7 * * ***

* * *

><p><strong>Updates:<strong> Still looks like it'll be on Friday.

**About ****the ****titles:** There is so much denial in this chapter, I couldn't help but have the word included in the title.

**Interesting ****fact:** This was a difficult chapter. I don't remember how it came about that I ended up writing about this awkward topic. In any case, I was seriously trying to handle it appropriately, though it turned out to be such a difficult thing to do.

_Reviews encouraged. Until next week!_


	7. Caring is Creepy

m(-_-)m **Sorry!** Although I had promised an update a week after the last chapter, certain circumstances prevented me from fulfilling it. I apologize to those reading the story, but I hope that you will understand. For the curious, more on this at the end, but for now, please enjoy this chapter!

*** * * Ch. 7 – CARING IS CREEPY (The Shins) * * ***

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><p>Although it's been nearly a month, Faye still hasn't left.<p>

Yet, because she hasn't told anyone how long she plans to remain at the Bebop, it seems that she will leave any second. It makes me anxious. Because unless I know that she's here, unless I'm seeing her or know where she's at, I feel very bitter.

I can't believe I lose sleep over this as well, wasting my time wondering whether she will be gone when I wake up—I get tired of it very quickly. I try very hard to stop worrying over something that I have no right over, even if I'm mostly unable to do so. I understand that Faye's not here because things with Damian are over. Yet, I'm still fooling myself into believing that this change is permanent.

But if anything, I guess I have at least recognized this much: all I can do is pretend.

And maybe I'm finally learning not to get so hopeful over nothing. That's why, today, I finally decided to erase two things from my communicator. The first is the last contact number I have of Julia, the one that I got from her years and years ago. The second thing I will be getting rid of is the saved voicemail I have from Faye, the one I've grown too attached to just because it has her voice…

I don't make a ceremony of it. First, I go to the contacts list and delete Julia. Then, I open my voicemail and erase all the messages.

Because I need to stop.

It's been a good while since I accepted that Julia and I could have never been together to begin. It's about time I also give up on the idea that things will be any different with Faye. Since…I have no idea how I ever even considered starting to think about her as more than…whatever it was I thought about her…regardless of anything I feel now, I need to force myself to come to terms with this idea. I need to stop interfering. And I need to stop fooling myself.

But it's not like I ever get what I want. And my luck has it that as I hear the voicemail system say, "There are no messages," Faye walks into the living room. Faye, whose sole presence reminds me of every feeling I want to forget.

"What's wrong with you?" she asks crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight to her left leg.

I can't hide my displeasure. "Eh?" I say groggily, not even bothering to respond correctly.

"You look like crap."

"…I have enough reason to," I mumble thoughtlessly.

"What?" She asks somewhat annoyed.

I only grunt in response.

She walks around the couch and stands behind me. I feel her hands on my shoulders and then her breath on the back of my neck. My skin crawls and I hear her chuckling. Then, she whispers sardonically in my ear, "You. Are. A. Pain."

"I know," I answer as lethargically as possible, though I can't help but smirk momentarily.

She slides her hands forward over my shoulders and crosses them in front of me. Then, she glides her hands to her elbows so that my head is cradled tightly in her grasp. "I want to go," she says softly. "Even though neither you or Jet want me to go tomorrow. I want to go with you."

I stare at her hands and trace the length of her arms with my sight. The feeling of her skin on my neck distracts me. But I haven't closed my communicator and when it repeats, "There are no messages," I remember that I need to stop. I end the voicemail call but don't say anything.

"I'm bored of doing nothing," she insists. Then, she tightens her hold for a second while saying, "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, but. You can do whatever you want. Whether you come or don't come to the hunt tomorrow…I don't care." Then, I try to add jokingly, "It's your choice, so you don't have to try and seduce me." I wait for her to respond but she doesn't, so I unwrap her arms from around me.

A second after, she says sourly as she grips my shoulders, shoving me forward aggressively, "Who would try to seduce you?…I was hoping that if you said no, I could try to choke you until you agreed."

I have to crane my neck back to look at her standing behind me, "Well, there's no much need for that, so you can stop getting so close." I smirk at her, "What? You think you can do this just because I let you cry on me once."

I watch her eyes grow a little bigger before I have to shut mine, the palm of her hand landing forcefully on my face. It stings. But not as much as I know that it could. Afterwards, her hand sits motionless on my cheek. I open my eyes again and see her. But I'm unable to discern her expression.

"Does it bother you that much?" she says evenly.

Rather than anger, her tone of voice makes me resentful.

"What do you think?" I answer, "Isn't it bothersome to have someone annoy you like this?"

Her expression changes slowly, like if she were unable to maintain her composure. Her eyes shut a little, the water collecting at the corners. Watching this, I feel the guilt building in my chest. I clench my jaw, unsure of what to do next.

Suddenly, she smirks.

"You really are a pain," she hisses with a snide look on her face. She removes her hands away from me. I'm about to move my head down again when she suddenly jerks my chin upward with her left hand while covering my eyes with her right.

I freeze. I can't do anything. I can't say anything. I can't even think enough to try and figure out how close she is to me, even if I can feel her hair falling on my lips. I wonder if I'm blushing. Otherwise, I don't know how her hands could feel so cool against my face. But I don't have much time to do anything. She shakes my head while keeping me blinded and repeating, "you're a pain," over and over again.

Finally, the gears in my head start turning. I catch her wrists and she stops shaking me immediately. I try to move her hands away from my face but she has always been a lot stronger than she appears to be. Hence, my first attempt ends in failure. "Stop," I tell her, feeling that if she doesn't, I'll have a deep relapse into believing something that isn't.

"So it's fine if I go?"

"I already said that you can do whatever you want. Why the hell does it matter if I agree?"

"Because!" she says finally breaking her hands away. She walks around the couch slowly and sits, letting her body fall heavily and much closer to me than I feel comfortable with. She glances at my torso and says, "Even though it's been so long, the last time, nothing good came out of it."

"Are you apologizing?" I blurt quietly while trying to rub the feeling of her hands away from my eyes.

I thought she wouldn't hear me, but she says, "No. I just. I really want to do something but if it goes wrong…" Then, she looks at me before taking a hold of my wrists. She grips them tightly to stop the movement of my hands over my face.

I don't know whether she's still doing this because she's trying to bother me, or if she's seriously annoyed by my deterrence of her. Whatever her reason, I really want her to stop touching me. Because of that, I end up stating, "…rather, aren't you worried about finding out that you can't do things like you used to?"

Faye hastily retreats her hands to her lap while she falters, "…that…that's part of it. But-"

"I haven't changed my mind since the first time you brought it up," I say, colder than I intend. "So, just do what you want…In the end, if you wind up killing me or whatever, I really don't care."

"…I'm going," she states as seriously as I had spoken. "But…if something goes wrong…well, then, don't you dare blame me for it."

"Are you talking about that last hunt we did? When did I ever blame you for what happened?"

"Really?" She says incredulously. "Your memory can't be that bad?" She stares at me then says, "When Damian first came here. Though you didn't specifically blame me, it was obvious."

I think back on that night, but the only thing I can remember is the dream in which I was making Faye mine. I look away from her, "…did I?"

"Don't play dumb, Spike."

When I finally remember, I realize that I had said it entirely from bitterness at seeing her and Damian together. But what's worse is that by thinking about it, the same, unpleasant feeling begins flickering inside of me again. I begin to feel uncertain and consciously move my focus further away from Faye. To justify myself against this…guilt, if it could be called that, in hopes that it will somehow change something, I say, "Then…sorry…it wasn't your fault."

Faye is completely taken aback. But she doesn't fail to respond, "And why are you apologizing now!" She hesitates, but touches my shoulder very briefly, just enough to force my attention back to her. Then, she says very assuredly, "If it upsets you when I apologize, what makes you think I would think any differently if you do it, idiot!"

I look away from her eyes again as I lie, "I figured…if I said something like that, you'd leave me alone…I'm tired. So I want to rest."

She rises from the couch quickly and stands in front of me so that I'm forced to face her. "Seriously," she says annoyed, "the only thing that makes me want to do is slap you again." She crosses her arms and says, "You know, I can tell you're lying…Don't you ever get tired of being by yourself? Lately, there's something really odd about you."

"You read too much into things. I'm just tired and-"

"Spike," she interrupts calmly. "You don't have to justify yourself to me. Though I do wish you wouldn't try to make a fool out of me like this." She starts walking away and says, "Anyway, if you want to be left alone so badly, you can just say so…I really don't know what's wrong with you, but somehow, it kind of freaks me out."

I watch her leave quietly, but as soon as she's out of range, I can't help but laugh. Thankfully, I'm over accepting my position in all of this. Otherwise, I don't think that I could take it so easily. I had never realized how nice it's to know what I feel, since now I can laugh at myself for it.

For the rest of the trip I don't see Faye. But through it, I wonder, if she only knew what was really wrong with me, what would she do then?

When we land on Earth it's nighttime and much colder than I had expected. No one in the ship does anything and in the end we all go to bed early. However, by the time it's noon the next day, it's hot as hell and we all end up grouping on the deck, which turns out to be the coolest area of the ship. I have to take my coat off, though I still carry it around out of habit, and roll the sleeves of my shirt. Ed, being Ed, resorts to playing with water while pretending to bathe Ein. Faye gives up her modest attire for denim shorts and a wife beater. She nearly cuts her hair too, but ends up tying it into a bun instead. Somehow, Jet seems to be the only one unphased by the heat.

We loiter around doing nothing, but just as the day is turning from hot to scorching, Jet decides that we can't delay any longer. We leave the Bebop and make our way into town. It's small and dusty and if it weren't from the stench of the occasional dumpster, it would feel entirely like a ghost town.

But I suppose that's the closest thing it is since the town itself is a safe house for criminals, most who have pretended to die in order to flee their persecution. When the government declares them as dead, usually whatever bounty exists on their head also dies. Hence, we make zero profit if we capture any one of them. Instead, it's the few citizens of the town or the criminals themselves that end up making the profit. For a price, they trade information and rent out equipment. And for a good sum, they're usually not too hesitant to give out the location of the bounties that haven't bothered to fake their deaths yet.

Fortunately, we know where to find our bounty, a grotesque rapist and murderer known as Sam Pittman. According to our sources, he manages a small gas station in the middle of nowhere some forty-five miles away from the current town. The station only serves small vehicles; so to reach him, we can't use any of our ships. Pittman's job, as it turns out, is to make money out of bounties that are trying to get away, while he still is very much open for hunt.

I don't like dealing with the people around the town much. So, I let Jet do most of the talking. And having noticed that it is much cooler than being inside, I wait outside of the building as Jet tries to make a deal to rent a jeep with the owner of the shop.

Faye joins me shortly, but nothing much happens. We don't speak to each other, though it's not necessarily that we're doing it on purpose or out of anger. It's just something that always seems to happen. Prior to any hunt, we'll just stand or sit around for a few minutes while smoking in silence.

Though we had lit them seconds apart, Faye finishes her cigarette before me. She crosses her arms and waits silently. I glance at her a few times, noticing that she must be nervous about deciding to come along. But I don't do anything to try and ease her situation. She is the one that chose to come. Even if I've ended up as her partner, I don't know how much I should interfere with her decision. And to an extent. It's something that she has to deal with by herself.

Just as I finish my cigarette, Jet walks out of the building. He hands me the keys while saying, "It's the dark blue jeep with the bench seat. Hurry up and get going, otherwise, it's going to get too late. I'm going to get back to the ship and make sure that Ed's got the coordinates ready to guide you if we end up needing them."

Faye and I walk around the building and find our vehicle parked where the sun hits it most. It's visibly old, but I guess it's better than nothing. I stare at the keys on my hand for a second and glance at the dark, worn leather seats. "You want to drive?" I ask Faye.

"No thanks," she says dismissively while walking towards the passenger side. "There's no way I'm burning my hands with that steering wheel. Besides, I'm not just going to let you sleep while I do all the work." Then, she says mockingly, "I mean, since I bothered you so much yesterday, you must still be tired, right?"

I don't respond. Instead, I walk towards the driver's seat and open the door. Before I sit down, I decide to throw my coat over the seat. I turn on the engine, but Faye still hasn't taken a seat. "Hurry up," I tell her.

"The seat," she responds, "burned my skin…" She rubs the back of her thighs, "Only an idiot would park this thing in the sun."

"You think so?" I say sarcastically. I watch her as she stares at the seat. And although I'm a bit irritated, I pull the coat from underneath me and toss it over to her side. "Come on," I urge her again. "Stop wasting time."

She finally sits, making sure that my coat protects the exposed skin of the back of her thighs. I glance at her and notice the small smile on her face as she adjusts the fabric. I feel stupid as I watch her, realizing that I had played directly into what she wanted. I decide that, for my sanity, I would just let the mistake slip. And once Faye closes the passenger's door, I pull out of the parking space and take a road that leads us out of town.

The air is stifling, so moving doesn't change how hot it feels. In fact, it may only be worse. My lips are dry. And it doesn't help that there's no roof and that, after a few minutes, my knuckles and neck start to burn. Besides me, Faye's shoulders are also noticeably blushed. But after the seat has sufficiently cooled, she takes my coat and throws it over herself, making sure her arms and neck are covered. From time to time, she pulls lip gloss from her pocket and applies it over her lips. I can't figure out exactly what it smells like, so I can't help but notice it every time Faye uses it.

Ed and Jet call us from time to time to check our progress or to guide us along the faint road system of the area. And only a few seconds after they call, Faye and I will say a few words to each other. Simple things. What did they say? Are we in the right track? How much longer until we're there? But not much of anything else.

After about ten minutes of hearing nothing but the bumpy road under the wheels, Faye's communicator rings. I glance at her quickly as she lifts it up from her lap. I keep my gaze towards the road, expecting a moment of waiting before figuring out if anything has changed. I hear the clicking of a key. Then, nothing happens. Faye returns the communicator back to her lap and lifts my coat over her head again.

I glance at her before looking at the road. "That wasn't Jet?" I ask.

"…no," Faye says nonchalantly.

"…I see…" I answer. It seems like a minute passes before my curiosity gets the best of me. I know I'll probably hate the answer, but I ask, "Damian?"

Faye continues looking forward and answers slowly and casually, "Yeah…I finally answered his call this morning…so, he must think I will answer again…it was a bad idea. Right?"

I laugh a little and don't bother to look at her face, "It matters what I think?"

"I guess not," she responds looking at me. "But lately…it helps a lot more than just thinking by myself…" I meet her yes. "Ugh," she reacts shaking her head. "But you don't care, Right? Nevermind. I'll leave you alone." She picks up my coat and re-wraps herself with it, this time making sure that she shelters her face away from me.

I want to reach over and yank the coat away from her. Although at this point, I think it's just better to do nothing. So instead, I exhale quietly, removing all the stress from my mind.

The drive doesn't change much and twenty minutes later, we spot Pittman's station. It's a small building made up of additive rooms to a single adobe base. There are only two pumps on the outside and piles of tires sit on the side of one of them. Behind the main part of the station, there are three large storage buildings.

We park by the open gas pump and step down of the vehicle pretending that we're costumers passing by. I look at the gas pump, but it isn't self-serve. Faye comes around and we wait to see if anyone will attend us. After a while, it seems that Faye and I are the only ones present.

"Let's check inside," I tell her.

"Okay," she says.

The door to the shop opens easily. When Faye and I step inside, we see a fan running, sitting on the edge of an open window behind the check out counter. Somewhere in the back, a radio plays country music. I look through the small isles but there's no one. Suddenly, a door from the back opens and a woman in her mid-twenties enters. She's kind of petite but wears a large pair of worn, denim coveralls over a red tank top; around her waist, she ties a heavy flannel jacket.

"Sorry, I hope I didn't make you guys wait too long. I was cleaning up a mess." She picks up a white cap and covers her chin-length, brown hair. "But I'm here now so if you guys need anything just let me know."

"We will," Faye says. She glances at me and I can tell she's thinking whether or not I took a wrong turn somewhere. She walks to me and stands very closely. She picks up a package of painkillers and turns the bottle in her hand. Then, she says. "Is this it?"

"I don't know," I tell her, also looking at the medicine. "What do you think?"

"I thought you would know…"

Although I'm sure that we're in the right place, I wonder if Pittman is even in today. "I don't know anymore than you…" I say.

"I'll call home and check," Faye responds. She dials and walks around the isles, still holding on to the bottle of painkillers, through the conversation. When she hangs up, she places the bottle of medicine on my hands and says. "This is it."

But even if she tells me we are in the right place. What are we supposed to do if the person who was supposed to be here is nowhere to be seen? Sure, we didn't have an image of the man. But the description stated a robust man with great agility.

I walk to the check out counter and place the package on top. "We'll take this. And could we get some fuel."

"Will that be it?" the woman asks.

"Wait," Faye says. "Can I see if there's anything else we need?"

"Alright," I tell her, "try not to take too long."

"Well," the woman says, "let's go take care of business."

I follow her outside and I ask her to fill the tank up. Then, I stand a little ways away from her, pretending that I'm checking my communicator.

Suddenly, she asks, "Who's the pretty gal with you?"

I look up from the screen of my communicator, vaguely saying. "She's my sister."

"You guys don't look anything alike," she tells me as she begins fueling. "If you had told me she's your girlfriend, I would believe it more…If you're running away from someone, don't worry, I won't tell. You people are what give me a living. You know, people running away from something or someone, that seems to be the only clientele to come around here."

I can tell how unconvinced she is, and I really can't blame her either, so I decide to take a different approach. I laugh quietly. "If that's the case, then we're in the right place…" I don't want to back down on what I've already told her, so I continue, "But you're wrong in that she's not my sister."

"Sheesh, you're just like my brother, trying to lie your way out of things." She laughs, "Even your hair and nose looks the same."

"I look like your brother?" I ask quickly. Could it be possible that her brother is the man we are looking for?

"Yeah," she says shyly, "a little…" She meets my gaze, "But you're lying, aren't you?"

"Nah, I'm serious," I say hesitantly, "but…it's one of those hard things to explain and people tend to look down on us for it."

Her reaction surprises me.

"Will you tell me?" She says excitedly. "You've made me really curious, now."

But I'm the one who's become the curious one since I don't understand her enthusiasm. And to make things worse, I hadn't thought ahead any further than what I had already said. I take a few seconds, pretending to figure out a way to explain.

"She's my step-sister," I begin, "the daughter of my father's current wife and her ex-husband. My father married her mother when we were teenagers, but since we're not blood related, we just never saw each other as brother and sister. But you know, people don't see it that way."

"Ah!" she says breathlessly, "it's one of those forbidden love things, right? Honestly, I don't blame you and I just can't understand why people make such a big deal about it. It's tiring dealing with it…I bet."

I nod.

From her expressions, I can tell she is responding honestly. Except, she believes everything much too easily to give me comfort…I wonder, is it possible that she is in love with her brother? With the way she sympathizes with me and from her reactions before, I wouldn't dismiss the idea.

Regardless of that, I need to gain her trust. And if she believes what I've said so far, I need to continue.

"…Yeah, we got tired of hearing things so we ran away. It feels like forever now."

She smiles, "So what do you guys do now?"

"She's my partner," I say. "We cheat casinos out of their money…you know…false coins…counting cards…things like that. They nearly caught us so we're trying to stay low for a while. We have two other players but it didn't end up so well for them. One got beat up pretty badly, which is why we're looking for painkillers in the first place."

"Wow!" she responds. "Truthfully, my family is also in a lot of shady business. But about you and her. Partners…did you guys decide to stay siblings or do you do more than, uh, play poker?"

I laugh, "What do you think?"

She giggles.

Just then, Faye opens the door, briefly stepping outside to say, "Spike, can you come here for a second?"

I excuse myself and walk back into the store.

As soon as I enter, Faye pulls me by the arm and drags me into a corner of the store. I try to explain to her what I've just found out. However, she hastily covers my mouth with her hand and pulls me with the other to her height. I glance at her annoyed, wondering whether she's going to make a habit out of holding me like this.

She whispers very quietly, "It's her."

I glance at the window and then back at Faye. She nods her head. "Trust me," she says, slowly removing her hands from my face.

But I can't.

For me, there are too many things that have changed and I can't blindly accept that she is telling me the truth. I glimpse at her. Yes, Faye's become someone I've grown overly careful of. But the blind trust that I had in her died the moment I heard she was in love with someone else. Not because I am resentful. It's simply because, at that moment, I realized that I don't know her anymore.

I'm unable to respond to Faye. She looks at me and is about to speak. However, the woman I'm left to assume is Sam Pittman enters the store.

"Alright," she says smiling at me, "you guys getting anything else other than the fuel and painkillers?"

"Yeah," Faye answers placing a roll of duct tape on the counter. "This too."

"Okay," Pittman answers. She picks up the tape and looks it over. "Oh, this is the old price. Let me check real quick, I'm sure I've changed it." She kneels behind the counter, "Let's see, the product list should be right here."

Faye faces me, her eyes nearly begging me to trust her. I look away, hastily turning to the counter again. Just as I do, I notice the awkwardness with which Pittman is moving. Whether she is or isn't Sam Pittman, there's something just not right.

I'm about to act but Pittman stands quickly. Then. I can't do anything anymore. Pittman stands solidly, aiming a shotgun at Faye. I'm unable to react quickly enough. And I'm left frozen with my weapon still hidden under my coat.

I curse myself. I should have listened to Faye. I should have believed her the first time around. So what if she's changed? Time changes everything. Even I've changed…for the worse it appears…And this mess we're stuck in…I'm the one who's to blame.

My blood rushes through my body, pumping so loudly that it nearly makes me deaf. What had happened? Does Pittman suspect something? How am I going to deal with Faye afterward? Will we even make it out of this?

"Step away from him please," Pittman orders Faye calmly.

"Fine," Faye answers moving a few feet away.

Faye glimpses at me, and first, I see her anger…but then her sight changes and I know she's asking me to do something.

And I want to do something. However, I don't want to risk her. The way things are, if I act now, she will be the first to suffer. If something goes wrong, what will I do? If she gets hurt. If something worse happens. How will I be able to deal with myself?

"Stop looking at him!" Pittman yells angrily. She takes a deep breath then, says normally, "You're only doing what I tell you know. So, just. Turn around."

I can see Faye swallowing uncomfortably as she begins to rotate. But even with her back towards us, I know that she's desperately trying to find a way to see what's going on behind her.

"Good," Pitman says after Faye stops her motion. "Good girl. That's how you're going to behave now."

I try to control my breathing. If I can calm down, I'll be able to figure out a way to get out of this alive. Finally, I ask, "Why are you doing this?"

First, I need to make sure that Faye won't be the one getting hurt from something that I'm to blame for. If I'm able to get Pittman to look away from Faye, her aim will be compromised. "If it's money you want," I tell her, "you heard what I told you earlier, we're dirt poor right now."

However, Pittman's eyes remain completely stationary, even when she responds. She chuckles, "There are other things that interest me."

"What's that?" I ask calmly. Yet, I'm desperately hoping that she'll make a mistake.

"Her."

"…her?" I ask confused.

Pittman smiles, "She's a beautiful woman..."

I'm left speechless for a second. Then, I say hurriedly, still hoping to break her focus, "That's because you don't know her. She's actually a really crude woman…She never shuts up. And her skin. She's always having to use lotion because it's so dry…She's a very cold woman too. Once, she had a boyfriend, but she didn't let him touch her."

"You don't have to say all that!" Faye says angrily.

"Shut up!" Pittman tells her.

"See," I say. "Even though she's in danger she still says useless things."

"I don't mind any of that," Pittman answers unconcernedly. "Besides, it's better that way. The quiet ones aren't as fun. They don't struggle when I play with them. And their eyes, you have to force them open sometimes."

I don't want to understand what she's just told me. I feel nauseated, though I can't figure out if it's out of nervousness or disgust…I don't know what else I could say, so instead I step back, hoping that the motion will distract her.

"Don't move!" she commands me. But her eyes and aim are still perfectly set on Faye. "If you move. I'll shoot."

There. Why hadn't I noticed it before? I breathe slowly. I say, "Then, shouldn't you aim at me? If you shoot her…You're interested in her, not me. So if I'm the dead one, you still have her like you want. Right?"

Pittman laughs, "You really are like my brother…Always thinking you know what's best…But this is getting boring now. Hey you?" She tells Faye, "Can you turn around please?"

Faye moves very slowly. But instead of looking at Pittman, her eyes are focused on me. Once I notice this, I force my attention on the shotgun, fighting very hard against myself who wants to look back at Faye. Pittman licks her lips. When Faye stops moving, Pittman smirks. Then, she glances at me for the first time. Which means. The barrel will move. Any second now. Just. A bit. There—I move away, draw and take aim at her quickly. She fumbles a little, shoots and misses my shoulder.

We stand there, aiming at each other, trying to catch the smallest mistake that would give one the advantage.

"You think I'm afraid of this." But by the time she finishes saying this to me, she realizes that Faye had taken aim at her during her initial fire. "Well, this is expected…" Pittman continues, "but it's not as if it will help any. Because, you know neither of you are actually going to shoot. Do you want to see him die?" She addresses the last part to me, "How about you, do you want to risk dying and not be here to protect her afterwards? No, right? Because you know that, no matter which of you shoots me, there is an incredibly high possibility that I could at least kill you."

I don't answer her.

I really want for Faye to take care of herself. In this hunt. In the next, if she should ever have one. In whatever troubling situation she should find herself in….Except there's a deeper part of me that just can't see it this way…A part that wants to be there no matter what…But…is it really enough of an excuse to be swayed by Pittman's words?

Pittman shifts her weight.

"Don't move," Faye says somberly.

"As if I would listen to you," Pittman says.

And then. She aims at Faye. I stay dumbfounded. Motionless. Yes, Pittman moves quickly. But, I should know better. I should have taken the opportunity to shoot her. This is tiring. Why can't I concentrate?

I just. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. For the first time in a long time, I'm afraid. I'm really afraid. So. Doesn't this mean. I don't have another choice now. Because I don't want Faye to be hurt. And Pittman. She's going to hurt her.

I have to ignore my anxiety. I need to protect Faye. I have to listen to my rationale. That's why—I shoot. Pittman shoots. Faye shoots.

The widow shatters. Pittman curses. The shotgun fumbles awkwardly to the floor. It fires. Faye stumbles backwards. I shoot again. Pittman screams, letting her body fall through the broken window. I hear her landing and then stumble away.

I give a step forward, rushing to Pittman.

"Spike," Faye says airily. Or at least, that's what I think she says. And then, she falls on her knees.

I don't want this. I want her to say something more. To yell at me. Just something.

I hear Pittman cursing. I glance at the window. I know I should follow her. I know I should run after her and make sure that she doesn't get away. I know everything that I'm supposed to do. But I can't. Instead, I'm concerned about Faye. My worry becomes stronger than my will and I forget the problem of allowing Pittman to escape. Instead, I kneel besides Faye quickly. And I have no remorse to be doing something I shouldn't.

"Faye," I tell her as I manage to remove her hands from over her heart. In doing so, my thumb finds one of the veins of her wrist. Her heart is beating so fast. Exactly as fast as mine.

She doesn't react, so I call her name again. The way she's breathing makes me feel that she's hurt. Like the pain doesn't allow her to get enough air to fill her lungs. I look over her body but I can't find any traces of blood. "Did you get hit?" I ask her.

She shakes her head and stares at the ground between her knees. Now, I don't think she's breathing at all.

I lift her face up and force her to face me. It's become hard for me to speak well and I can only whisper, "You okay?"

She nods. But she's still not breathing.

I hold her shoulders and help her stand up. I don't know why, but as we stand, I instinctively regulate my breathing so that it is easy for Faye to hear. By the time we're up, our breathing has matched.

I don't want to let her go.

This mindset. This way of behaving. Does Faye dislike it? Does she thinks it's creepy?

"Spike," she stutters, "I…" But she has to stop speaking so that she can continue breathing. After a few slow breaths, she faces me with uncertainty. I realize that she is able to stand, and so I force myself to release her.

"This is my fault," Faye says quietly, "I'm being stupid over nothing so…let's find Pitman now." She turns away from me and dusts her knees. I want to stay besides her, but I feel that if I stay, I will want to hold her again.

I walk around the counter and see the damaged shotgun covered in Pittman's blood. My glance follows the sticky trail across the window. I look around, carefully maintaining myself away from an angle that would be dangerous in open fire. But I can't see Pittman. Even the trail of her blood dies just a couple of feet away from the window. To make things worse, I can't find any impressions of her feet on the rocky surface. Further out, there's only sand. So if she got that far already, the wind may make it impossible to track her.

"Anything?" Faye asks carefully approaching the window.

I don't answer her. There has to be something. I should be able to find some sort of trace. I should know what to do next.

"There's nothing," she tells me.

But I don't want to listen to her.

"Spike."

"Yeah," I say, much rougher than I intend, "I get it." Even though my mind can't settle on not knowing where Pittman is, I walk away from the window. "…it hasn't been that long. She has to be nearby. Maybe she's hiding somewhere." I hear a strange noise behind me. I follow it and hear it behind the door from which Pittman first emerged. I'm nearly certain behind it should be the home section of the building. Could it be possible for someone else to be there?

Faye follows my steps and says, "As long as it's not an attic."

I turn the handle of the door. It's locked. I kick the door down and do a quick sweep of the room. Faye covers my back.

There's a couch in the middle. A television sits on a corner of the room. Across it, there's a small sink and a heating plate. The floor is covered in mossy, green carpeting. The floral wallpaper is falling from the corners of the walls. There is only one door leading outside. I look through the room again. I see the coffee maker running and realize it's the source of the strange noise. But the room is clear.

"…an attic?…I don't think that will be the case," I finally answer.

"But if there is an attic—"

"I know, I know," I interrupt her, "you won't be the one to enter the stupid attic first." I look up at the ceiling. There's a single lightbulb suspended in the middle of the room. It's hanging from a hook, with an extension cord running to a socket in the wall. "…There is no attic."

"Lucky us," Faye says sarcastically as she stares at the ceiling. "How long ago was that anyway? I can't believe you still remember."

I walk around the room, glancing outside through the mesh of the fly door. "It's not something so easy to forget. We were nearly charged with murder."

"Still…"

"I would think that you would remember it better than I would. After all, that's the first time you met Damian."

"Why do you bring him up?"

"You're really asking that? You were there. He was there. You two have been together for so long, it's hard not to think of one without thinking about the other." I don't know what I was thinking with bringing this up, but now I can't shut up. I don't even remember what I wanted to say anymore. And now, it's just making me even more frustrated than I already am. But at least, I can tell it's making Faye angry too.

"That doesn't mean anything," she says irritated, "I don't bring Julia up just because I know you love her."

I love Julia?

That's true…I hadn't thought about that in a long time. I do love her. But only to the extent you can love someone that is no longer there. Not because I wanted to forget…I never wanted to forget. I wanted for her be the only person I would ever care about. I just simply couldn't.

I face Faye, "…Julia is dead."

She becomes visually uneasy. I think she's about to say something evasive. But I don't let her; I want her to realize this as well. Because, she still believes that I'm clinging to something that I can't.

I make sure that her eyes meet mine and I say, "It's the truth. Isn't it?"

She glances at the ground and avoids the question.

Just as I'm about to try and force an answer out of her, I hear something outside. Faye must have too because she quickly looks in the same direction. It's a sort of mechanical hum…something like a motor. But it's not running right, at first, it's like it won't start. We run towards the door and force it open. Then, we head towards one of the storage buildings. When we get there, there's only a trail of dust and a speeding motor in the distance.

"We should have looked there first." Faye says as we run back to the house. She opens the door and we rush inside.

"I told you she was nearby," I say dismissively.

We run through the green-carpeted room and make our way to the store. The doors swing as we move through. Being behind her, I can see back the of Faye's neck. With her hair pulled up and her skin exposed, it reminds me of the times when she had short hair. I shut my eyes and look away, hoping that I will quit being distracted by such trivial things. Just then, Faye stops and I run into her.

"Watch where you're going!" She snaps.

"You're the one stopping so suddenly," I retort back quickly.

She glares and places her hand on the duct tape left sitting on the counter. She picks it up, then, she continues running to the front of the building where our jeep is parked. She opens the door from the driver's side and slides into the passengers seat as I take over the steering wheel. It starts up easily and I rush towards where we'd heard Pittman last.

"Shit," I mumble glancing down at the dashboard. "It's not even anywhere near a quarter tank."

Faye laughs, "At least you didn't have to pay for it at all. And we have free tape."

"Why did you grab that for anyway?"

"You'll see," she says mischievously.

The tone of her voice forces my eyes off of the trail for a moment. When she's smiling like this, it makes me question everything that I had finally managed to settle. I catch myself staring yet again and turn away. I laugh at myself. Where had my determination to quit all of this gone? I wish I could give up on her easily. But somehow, even if it's wrong for me to think this way, I'm finding it harder and harder to force myself to stop.

*** * * Ch. 7 End, Continued on Ch. 8 * * ***

* * *

><p><strong>About this chapter:<strong> From wedding designs (I'm a graphic designer and my sister is getting married soon) to my wrists getting hurt, and everything in between, I was completely unable to advance the story.

When I finally got the time to work on this again, I was disappointed with the way I had written things. So what did I do? Did I simply just f-it and let you read something I wasn't happy with? I say, no! In the end, I ended up re-writing a lot…it changed the dynamic a great deal, I believe, in a very positive way. Thanks to this, there will be a lot of re-writing that I will need to do for the other chapters that I had already written (eight and nine), but I think everything will be for the best.

I don't want to waste your time so I try to give you something that is actually worth reading. I can't get myself to upload something that I am not happy with, so I may take longer than other authors when working on a story…And how long it can be! Although it's only been some months of the story being uploaded into this site, it's been about two years since I first began writing it. So, I hope that you will be patient and understanding if there are times when I am unable to post something.

_Thanks for the support! Until next time (Not sure when that will be but hopefully sooner than later)!_


	8. Closer

_Yoshi! Here's the next chapter…quite long, so get comfortable._

_PLEASE READ: I did not realize until very recently that most Jeeps don't have bench seats. You know, where there is one long seat instead of two individual seats…So, for this story's sake, the Jeep that Spike and Faye are using has a bench seat. I will go back and specify this in the previous chapter. But for those of you who are reading as I upload, I thought it was necessary to make a clarification. _

*** * * Ch.8 – CLOSER (Nine Inch Nails) * * ***

* * *

><p>Even if I've become conscious of the way I see Faye, I should at least be more controlling of myself. I'm not a kid with an attention deficit disorder so this is something I should be able to handle without difficulty. Being distracted so easily, I don't see how it would benefit either of us.<p>

I sigh heavily, locking my sight at whatever lies ahead. Faye glances over as if she was going to speak, but she bites her lips before turning away. It only makes things uncomfortable. I don't want to stare at her, so I feel that I can only allow myself to hear her. However, she doesn't say anything and she doesn't move anymore.

I begin to doubt that she's okay, that maybe she's stopped breathing again. I hesitate and say as casually as possible, "Do you see the tracks?"

"Yeah," Faye says quietly. She shifts forward, sitting at the edge of the seat. "Do you think…it's an ATV?"

"Probably…" I say shortly, glad that she is able to respond effortlessly. She doesn't say anything else, so after a few seconds I continue, "the tracks are too small to be anything else."

She exhales slowly, "I don't see anything ahead. How fast do you think she's going?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if it's at least something like fifty. Some of those ATVs can run up to seventy."

"But at least, we have this much…" She slides in her seat so that her back is resting. She crosses her arms and legs, intently staring at the sand. "…How fast are you going?"

"Not much faster…it feels like there's something wrong with the axle of this thing so it's hard for me to speed up without loosing too much control…Damn Jet, being so cheap."

"Then…how come you were going faster before?"

"It wasn't as bad on the road. But the sand here is the problem."

She laughs teasingly, "Spike's making excuses."

"Would you like to drive instead then?"

"No thank you," she responds sarcastically. "Isn't driving supposed to be more of a guy's thing?"

I laugh a little, "Who's making excuses now?"

Suddenly, there is a back and forth between our conversation that seems nearly unstoppable. I don't think that Faye and I have ever talked so much in a hunt. Or if it's even appropriate for us to do so.

But there is no immediate need to stop either. Damian is not around. Jet is not around. Ed is not around. Not even Ein is here. So why would I deny time that appears to belong solely to me?

Through this, time passes swiftly and the sun begins to set. There is no apparent transition from day to night and it becomes dark quickly. It becomes hard to distinguish the tracks Pittman has left behind. And worse yet, I have to force the jeep through very loose sand, fearing that we'll get stuck in the middle of nowhere with no hope of ever catching up to Pittman.

There is nothing out here. Nothing but sand and dead little shrubs and Pittman's fading tracks. I know that we can definitely catch her…It's just a matter of time and luck.

Since it's dark, I'm forced to turn on the lights. I know its unfortunate because now our location is clearly exposed. But if I don't do it, there's no way we can keep searching for the tracks. As if that wasn't enough, I begin to worry about the amount of gas we have left. The tank is getting low quickly and I don't even know if we'll have enough fuel to catch up to Pittman.

Suddenly, Faye points at something. She tilts her head and, for the first time in a while, doesn't say anything. She scoots forward on the seat and leans towards the dashboard. She crosses her arms and rests her chin over them. After a few seconds, she slaps my arm and points ahead of us. "Spike, do you see something there?"

I stare at the distance and I can easily spot it, "Lights."

"That must be her!" Faye says excitedly, "Hurry up, catch up to her."

"I don't want to go much faster than this."

"This is frustrating," she mumbles.

"Stop complaining," I say apathetically, "we'll catch up in a minute."

But even if I don't let it show, I also feel frustrated. Gradually, I start to speed up, fully aware that it isn't safe for me to do so. However, I am able to control the vehicle well enough and it doesn't take long before I clearly hear the motor of the ATV. From the way it revs, I can tell that Pittman's already going as fast as she's willing to, and much faster than 50 miles an hour too. I speed up again, straining my arms to keep the vehicle stable. A few seconds later, I see Pittman's silhouette.

Faye stands up from her seat. "Don't do anything stupid," she tells me.

I smirk, "I don't guarantee it."

Faye rolls her eyes and leans outside of the passenger's side. She holds up her gun and waits to steady herself with the top frame of the Jeep. Then, she shoots. Pittman swerves. The ATV's speed decreases a great deal. However, Pittman is able to recuperate her stability.

"You missed..."

"Don't point out the obvious," Faye says frustrated.

"Shoot over the front," I direct her.

"I don't find it as comfortable as this," Faye responds. And as if to prove her point, she leans a little further out and holds the gun ready to shoot again. She stays still. Then, she shouts back at me annoyed, "Damn it Spike! Go Faster!"

I decide that I can't miss seeing the expression on her face. I break my sight away from the path and look at her for the first time in a while. "What's the matter," I tell her smiling, "afraid you'll miss again?"

She turns away from me, but I can see her looking in my direction through the corner of her eyes. "Stop being rude and just drive faster."

"You're the one who told me not to do anything stupid."

"And since when do you listen to me?" she says sardonically, choosing to face me again. "If you're going to tonight, then listen now, I'm telling you to go faster."

"Fine, fine," I answer. "I'm getting bored of this anyway."

I speed up once again and it doesn't take long for us to catch up to Pittman. Faye shoots nearly immediately. Pittman's back, left tire goes out. The ATV swerves. Pittman jumps off. The ATV spins. It flips. And flips. And flips. And comes to a stop. Pittman stays on the ground. The track that her rolling body made has left a pattern in the sand. Pittman squirms in the dirt, digging her body into the sand. I can hear her moaning and cursing under hear breath.

I stop the jeep a few feet away from her and both Faye and I jump out quickly. However, as we near her, Pittman swings her arms and legs around so that it's nearly impossible to get any closer. "Don't come near me!" she yells. "Get away! I don't want her anymore!"

Faye's body goes stiff. She sighs and says pleasantly, "Unfortunately for you, it's me who wants you this time."

Pittman's limbs freeze momentarily, just long enough for me to catch her hands. "Get off of me!" She says struggling, "Don't touch me."

She kicks and tries to throw her arms away from my hands. I kneel behind Pittman and force her arms to her back. She continues to resist, but it seems that as soon as the handcuffs lock, Pittman gives up. She stops moving and falls on the ground, sniveling against the sand as if it were her pillow.

Faye kneels next to me, the roll of duct tape worn as a bracelet on her wrist. She asks, "You didn't read very far in the bounty report, did you?"

I don't answer and instead ask, "What's with you and the tape anyway?"

"If you'd answered I would have told you," she says disdainfully. But she doesn't respond to my question either. She begins to unroll the duct tape, tearing it into small strips. In order to keep them organized, she tapes a small section of each to her thigh.

I watch as the strips begin to line her thighs. Faye places the strips carefully. Once, a strip's entire adhesive attaches to her leg. She peels the corner and the tape pulls on her skin aggressively. If my initial intention was not to see her skin, it's inevitably what I end up noticing the most.

"Stop staring," Faye says passively.

I meet her eyes, "It's hard not to stare at a crazy woman dressing herself in duct tape."

"Really Spike," she responds, "if you like my legs so much you should just says so. Plenty of men have told me so before, so I'm used to hearing it."

"Tsk…You're really conceited to think that I'd be staring at your legs just because I'm a man."

"You're a man?" Faye says faking surprise. "I was unaware of that."

Although I know this is nothing but a joke, it angers me easily. And even if I'm not entirely sure of what it is I mean by it, I say, "Do you have the right to claim something like that?"

I see her eyes shifting uncomfortably before she says, "Whatever…it doesn't make any difference to me." She tears one more strip of tape and then says, "…Help me hold her hands in place."

I do so just to keep myself from saying something I'll regret. Pittman groans as I pull her hands away from her back. I carelessly push the sleeves of her heavy jacket closer to her elbows. I stop and notice that the hand that I had shot earlier was clumsily bandaged. I lift her hands up a few inches from her spine. Then, Faye tapes the thumbs in place against Pittman's palms. I watch her quietly and she continues to secure the remaining of Pittman's fingers into pairs using the strips she'd just finished cutting, removing them away from her thighs as she works. When all of Pittman's fingers are taped in pairs, Faye grabs the roll of tape and covers Pittman's hands by taping all the fingers together. When Faye finishes, she let's Pittman's hands fall heavily and Pittman winces loudly.

"You think she's that badly hurt?" Faye asks, yet there is no concern in her voice.

"I don't know."

"Why not? You're the one that shot her hand."

"…you should have killed me…" Pitman interrupts quietly.

"And what good would that have been, eh?" Faye says irritated, "We need you alive to collect the bounty."

"Bounty!" Pittman says surprised. Abruptly, her features change entirely away from a pitiful glance into disgusting disappointment. "You guys don't look like bounty hunters at all. I seriously thought that you were criminals!"

I stare at her while she laughs, feeling somewhat insulted. Why does she find it so amusing? Is she not aware of her position in this? But I don't worry much and her condescending laughter assures me that if she can laugh so much, she probably isn't as injured as she made believe.

Faye stands up, shaking the sand away from her legs. As Pittman continues to laugh, Fay rolls her eyes and her sight ends on me.

"Why so much?" I ask her, quickly shifting my glance at Pittman's duct taped hands.

Faye sighs. "When I found her shirt in the women's restrooms, I looked through the pockets and found all sorts of makeshift tools for opening locks. Then, I remembered how most of the records mentioned something about Pittman breaking into homes. That's how I knew it was actually her and not some guy…by doing this, I figured it would save us some problem later on…She's already given us enough trouble and I don't want to worry about her unlocking the cuffs."

"Still." I respond aloofly, "Seems a bit extreme…" I don't mention that I think she's doing it out of scorn for Pittman. Instead, I watch Faye shrug her shoulders uninterestedly. I wait for a second before saying, "We should call Jet. I don't think we'll have enough gas to get back."

"Seriously," Faye replies, "…what's with our luck today?…I guess…I'll take care of it."

Faye walks back to the jeep and finds her communicator. She sits on the passenger's side of the seat with her legs resting over the open door. It seems Jet answers quickly and she begins to tell him about the situation. Through this, Pittman won't stop looking at me. I glance back at her but don't say anything. After a few times of the same thing repeating, I finally stare back without reservation. Pittman doesn't shy away at all and just keeps staring back.

Pittman asks, "So, how am I listed in the bounty reports?"

"Like a man," I answer rashly.

"What!" she says offended. "A man! Why would they list me like that! I've worked so hard and they don't even bother to check the information they post about me!"

"I can't hear Jet," Faye shouts at me. "Make her shut up."

I stare at Pittman again, "You heard her."

"No! I want to know why they would do that to me! I'm ve-."

"It's your profiling," I say, dismissively cutting her sentence short. "You can't blame them for your behavior."

"So just because of that. That's horrible…" she stares down, I think, glancing at her body. When she speaks again, she's not shouting anymore. "I'm a woman."

I don't say anything.

"I have a chest. And I have hips. And I don't think it's a bad thing at all." She glances at me. "Right?"

"Sure."

"Don't just say it! Look! Right? You can tell I'm a woman?" She waits for an answer and when she notices I'm not paying attention, she rises on her knees and pushes on my legs with her shoulders.

I ignore her and instead grab her shoulders to force her to stand. I decide that, maybe it will be better for me to put her in the back of the jeep and have her become Faye's responsibility. But, even as I move her, she asks me again. And again. And again.

"I can tell," I say to her briefly. And it's not like I'm lying. Underneath the heavy clothes she's wearing, I can tell that she has wide hips. Although she has a small chest, I had noticed the front straps of her coveralls digging into her breasts before.

She smiles. "…You know, it's after something happened…I'm just a bit afraid of men…that's why…I usually can't even get near them."

I try to push her forward, but she digs her feet in the sand so that her back touches my body. She turns back at me and smirks. I look into her mischievous eyes and all I can think about is that she's starting to annoy me. As if I didn't hate women, children, and pets enough. I feel like I have to deal with a woman that thinks like a child and behaves like a dog in heat.

"You don't seem afraid," I tell her.

"Didn't I tell you earlier? It's because you remind me of my brother."

"C'mon, move."

"I don't want to," she says stubbornly. "You hurt me this morning so you should feel sorry for me and cure me of my phobia."

"Don't confuse yourself," Faye says as she walks around the jeep to where we're standing. "Didn't you hear him earlier? No matter what you may think, he's not your brother…He's still just a man."

"That's exactly why!" Pittman answers.

"Don't encourage her," I tell Faye crossly.

But Pittman continues smiling at me, "Will you then? If you're really a man, you'll do it, right? Or what, should I beg?"

I don't answer and continue pushing Pittman forward. I glance at Faye, her expression completely unreadable. I nearly feel like saying yes to Pittman just to see if I can at least make Faye a bit angry.

Just then, Faye says calmly, "…You don't have to be so eager to turn her offer down."

I can't help it and I smirk at Faye. Is it okay for me to think that she feels a little aggravated? Faye smiles back shortly and forcefully, as if saying that she doesn't even care what I do. It leaves me unsatisfied and I want to pry more out of her. I want to figure out how bothered she actually had been. But to my surprise, Faye tears Pittman away from my hands, forcing her against the body of the jeep.

"Where's Anna?" Faye asks demandingly.

"What are you talking about?" Pittman answers quickly.

"Anna McCaskey," Faye responds just as rapidly. I watch in confusion as Faye pushes Pittman's face against the hood of the jeep. "Stop bullshitting," Faye says angrily. "They found her purse in a car you sold recently."

"You crazy bitch!" Pittman says struggling against Faye. "What the hell? What makes you think I know?" Faye takes a hold of Pittman's arms, shoving her violently against the hood one more time. But Pittman continues shouting for help and ordering Faye to release her, or more often than not, cursing.

Faye glares at me. Her expression softens seeing the puzzled look on my face and she says evenly, "What should we do? Jet just told me that a woman's been missing for a week and he's sure it's Pittman who's responsible. They've got a reward on the girl. So, even if it's a bother, it'll end up being good for us."

I ask uncertainly, "How did-?"

"Jet talked to one of his police friends this morning and he mentioned a bit about Pittman and our hunt. Well, Jet got a call from him a few minutes ago asking us to search for Anna if we were to find Pittman."

I curse quietly. Why had today become so difficult? I feel tired, not just physically, but mentally as well. I sigh. "As stubborn as she is, how do you think we'll get her to admit anything?...We can't even get her to shut up."

Faye smirks before turning away from me and saying, "That's simple. Why don't you just find a way to keep her mouth busy?"

I laugh to myself, noticing that, this time around, there's definitely a tinge of bitterness in her voice. I know it's immature of me, but somehow, it's a bit relieving having her behave at least a little concerned of my actions.

"Why?" I say lighting a cigarette, "What you're doing is much more entertaining."

Faye doesn't say anything for a while.

Suddenly, "Damn it! Just shut up!" she shouts at Pittman, who, even through our silence, had still been screaming. Then, she forces Pittman's body to turn and pushes her back against the hood. She puts her weight onto Pittman and, before I can prevent it, shoves her gun into Pittman's mouth.

I stop mid-step. Faye is visibly irritated. And from past experience, I decide not to interrupt whatever it is she's doing. I stand back again and smoke, enjoying the sight of a Faye that Damian will never know.

Just then, Faye shoves the gun deeper into Pittman's mouth. "With what you did to me," she says sternly, "what makes you believe I won't shoot you?"

Pittman's body goes stiff. Her jaw jerks forward and her stomach moves irregularly in discord with her choppy breathing. She tries to swallow the spit building in her mouth. But she chokes and her gagging becomes uncontrollable. Her eyes get wet and the tears begin to roll down her dirtied face.

I think I should feel sorry for her, but her condition elicits nothings from me. And I continue smoking.

"I'm sick of dealing with you," Faye says, "so tell me where Anna is before I decide that I really can't stand you."

Pittman shakes her head in submission. But Faye holds the gun in place for a few more seconds of silence. Slowly, she retreats the gun from Pittman's mouth. Pittman's saliva drips on the corners of her mouth and the gun leaves little trails of spit in the air. Pittman desperately gasps for air as she coughs and stretches the muscles of her neck. Faye's sight never leaves her.

"In the back," Pittman forces out, "the building in the far right. In the second floor."

"See?" Faye says coolly, "That wasn't so hard."

Pittman shakes her head again but it's impossible to tell whether she is agreeing or not. Pittman sobs and mumbles. She moves her jaw as if trying to clear the taste and feel of the gun away from her mouth. Then, she says disdainfully, "You didn't have to shove that in my mouth, it's disgusting."

Faye laughs before getting close to Pittman and whispering, just loud enough for me to hear, "And here I thought I was helping you get over your phobia."

I grin a little.

Pittman stares at Faye with clear fear and anger in her eyes. Faye looks at her as intently, revealing hatred that I had not seen her display in years. I take one final drag of my cigarette before letting it fall to the ground. I walk over it as I give a step forward.

Faye finally moves away from Pittman. I walk over and take a hold of Pittman's arm, standing in between the two so that Faye will be unable to reach her. It's not that I feel bad for Pittman. It's that I don't want Faye to get angrier than she needs to, and then decide to take it out on me.

This time, Pittman doesn't struggle as I move her; she even shudders against my touch. Though she had been familiar with me before, I feel her body shaking now. I lead her and she willingly cooperates, even squeezing herself in the space behind the seat of the jeep that is reserved for small cargo.

I unlock one of the handcuffs and I have Pittman hug the frame of the jeep before locking them again. It's a simple task, but Faye makes it more difficult. Her sight follows me closely, intently watching every little movement I make. I feel as if Faye's expecting me to make some sort of mistake, to catch something wrong so that she will be able to scold me for it later.

I don't think it takes long for me to have Pittman detained, but Faye's sight is so intense I feel like I'm not moving fast enough. After I'm finished, I move away quickly. Faye steps aside and watches me give a few steps away from the vehicle. She turns again and looks at Pittman. Pittman shifts her gaze away from Faye and looks at the floor.

Pittman says coldly, "I should have killed you. You're nothing like I thought. You're hideous, even more so than me."

Faye doesn't tell her anything. Instead she picks up the roll of duct tape and pulls a few inches away from the roll. She shifts close to Pittman and gently puts the tape over her mouth. The way Faye moves her body, it's as if she's challenging Pittman to realize how feminine she actually is. Even the motion of her fingers is elegant and gentle as she tears the roll away from the section covering Pittman's mouth.

When Faye speaks, her voice is pleasant, reminding me of the tone she often uses with Damian. She says, "You look much prettier when you're quiet." Then, she pats Pittman's head a few times before jumping out of the vehicle.

I know I'm staring again. But her behavior is odd enough to justify my doing so. And in fact, she doesn't even question me for it. She continues acting as if nothing had happened. She calls Jet and informs him about what Pittman had just told us. Jet asks her to stay on the line so that he can trace our coordinates; and afterwards, he asks us to stay put.

After telling me, Faye sits on the passenger's side, crosses her arms on the dashboard, and lays her head down. I walk around to the driver's side and assume the same position with the steering wheel as my support. Behind us, Pittman weakly knocks the back of the seat, but not much of anything else.

I don't know how long we stand in silence, but it's long enough for Pittman to fall asleep. It's very quiet, save for the wind that blows roughly once in a while. I watch Faye from time to time, wondering if she's also fallen asleep.

I lift myself away from the steering wheel and watch as the wind blows the sand through the desert. I look up at the moon and follow the lines created by the stars. It's getting late. I wonder how much longer we'll have to wait before Jet finally finds us.

"It's cold."

I look away from the sky to see Faye peering at me with her eyes half-closed.

She repeats herself, "It's cold."

"I know," I say, watching her eyes slowly open.

She lifts her head away from her arms and sits up. She stares at my coat lying in between us. She glances at me and stretches her hand towards it.

"What're you doing?" I ask her quickly.

"I'm cold," she says, taking the sleeve of my coat and dragging it to her side.

"I didn't say you could borrow it." I reach out to take it away from her hands. But she yanks it out of my reach and shields it.

"You're not even using it!" she responds exasperated.

"It's still my coat…"

"I don't care," she says putting it on hastily. "I'm using it now. Besides, I doubt you'll even need it. You're like a damn heater."

"What?"

"I said you're like a damn heater."

"Huh…I never thought I'd hear something like that…"

Faye shifts her body to face me. "Really? No one's told you that before. But you're…" She suddenly loses her confidence and she says awkwardly, "…really warm."

I glance at her and look away.

"Don't do that!" she says embarrassed. "It was weird enough for me to tell you! Acting like that, you're so tactless."

"Who's being tactless? You're the one calling me a heater."

"But….but look," she stutters stretching out her hand towards me. "…Just touch my hand."

I stare at her fingers but I don't move. She grunts in annoyance and reaches out for my hand. I try to pull back, but she holds my wrist in place with her left hand and wraps her right hand over my palm.

"See," she says, "my hands are really cold but yours are still warm."

"…you're right…" I say thoughtlessly, trying not to indulge in the coolness of her skin. After I answer, she moves her hands away swiftly. I fist my hand, as if that would somehow keep the feeling of her skin from leaving my palm. "…When did you notice this?"

"I don't really know…," she says casually returning to her side of the seat, "but it must have been a good while ago. Like when we caught…what was his name?" She holds her temple as she thinks. "It was…something...bell?"

I have to think for a second before I say, "Was it…Tarbell?"

"Yeah, that's him…That night we caught him, I remember putting your arm around me to confuse his guards since that's how I was carrying him. But, it was kind of cold that night and it also helped keep me warm."

"So that's why…" I mumble, but she doesn't hear me.

She says, "And that night you found me at the park, when I was…I noticed it again."

"You notice weird things."

"Who are you to talk?" She says rashly. "You remembered which of my dresses had a broken zipper."

"Eehh…That's more like…" I don't know what to describe it as, and I end up saying, "…common sense."

Faye considers it. But she responds, "I don't think so. What I notice actually has some benefit. Like…if somehow I end up feeling like I'm freezing, I just need to find an excuse to get near you and I won't be so cold. Remembering that one of my dress zippers doesn't work really has no application for you. It's just plain stupid."

I want to tell her how useful it really is. That I could think of one very good reason where knowing I would have a hard time undressing her would be very useful. I get distracted trying to figure out a way to respond to her without revealing my thought and I don't speak.

My silence must have bothered Faye because she says, "Are you mad just because I said it was a stupid thing to notice? I know you've been acing weird, but this is still so unlike you."

"…That's not it, I'm used to hearing that from you." I begin slowly, "it's just, what you said before that, it sounds like you want to get closer to me…"

"I didn't say that!" she responds quickly.

"I know you didn't," I state easily. "It's just what it sounds like…" Mid-sentence, I have to cover up my mouth to yawn. I realize how tired I am and, since the opportunity presented itself, I decide to test my luck. Although at first I had meant it to remain a joke, now I say, "Well, that's a shame…I was hoping you'd say it was."

"What? Why?"

"Don't make a weird face," I say, trying to remain as casual as I can. "I'm really tired and I was hoping I could sleep before Jet got here. I'm going to have to drive all the way back to town after all…And if I try to lay down or something, I'm bound to end up taking your space as well."

"Wait. Then aren't you the one who wants to? That's a weird thing for you to ask…"

"Why is it weird?" I ask.

"Coming from you, I'm not sure what to think of it…"

"I don't see why it's weird for me to want to sleep."

"…I guess seeing it that way…" she mumbles. Then, she starts drifting her gaze away from me. And without having to ask her, I know whom she is thinking about immediately.

It bugs me, and although I could keep quiet about it, I don't hesitate to speak. "Oh, I get it. You just don't want Damian to find out and get upset."

"Idiot," she snaps back. "What makes you think I care if Damian get's angry. I'm still so pissed off at him, it even made me angry when you mentioned him this morning."

I smirk, just to cover up the discomfort of seeing her lie to me. "Is that what that was? I thought it annoyed you that I made it sound like he's your ex."

"It doesn't matter. I'm mad at him…even if he is or isn't my ex."

"You mean you don't know?"

Faye answer quietly, "…He isn't…" Then, she says frustrated, "But I'm still mad and I can't decide what to say to him until I figure out a way to get rid of my anger."

She looks at me with resentful, green eyes and I have a sudden feeling of déjà vu so I carelessly say, "That reminds me of something."

"What's that?" Faye asks, quickly regaining a less aggravated state.

I'm unsure of how much to say and I simply state, "I met this woman once…she was angry at her husband for cheating on her."

"And?" She asks.

"And what?"

"Well, it seemed like there was some sort of point to it."

"I guess there is…"

"And what is it?"

"She got back at him," I respond shortly.

Faye asks offended, "And that reminds you of me?"

"Of course it does," I say assertively. "You said you wanted to get rid of your anger and I'm telling you how she got rid of hers…In any case, she looked much happier afterwards."

"How do you know she was happier?"

"Because…I could tell. Or I guess, in my situation, that's just what every guy wants to believe."

"Why do you say that?"

I stretch my neck, deciding whether it's worth mentioning my involvement in all of this. Though I had initially wanted to keep it undisclosed, it doesn't take me long to decide otherwise. More than anything, it bothers me that Faye keeps pretending that she never even saw me as a man.

I slouch back on the seat and cross my arms behind my head. Then, I say, "Because I was the one to help her."

"You did what?" She asks confused.

"I helped her cheat."

"You mean you—"

"I slept with her," I say meeting her gaze straightforwardly.

Faye looks away and awkwardly clears her throat before saying, "You're weird telling me things like that. I don't want to hear anymore of it."

I could easily stop, but it would waste what I've already started. Instead, I say, "Yet, before, you've been the one to ask me how often I had sex. Aren't you contradicting yourself now?"

"That was entirely for a different purpose." She says, "Besides, you were lying to me that other time, right? Because I haven't seen you go out at all now that I've been living with you guys again."

"I don't see why you would think that means anything. I haven't been able to go out very much at night, but that doesn't tell you what I do during the day." And I'm not lying either. Even though she has moved in with us, I haven't stopped doing things with other women just because she's there. She and I are nothing, so even if I care about her, I don't see why I should stop or feel guilty about anything I do.

"Alright," she says, "I'll try to believe you. What was her name?"

"Lillian," I respond effortlessly, "….and her husband's name is Mick if that serves for anything."

"What's her last name?"

"How would I know that? It was a one-night thing. The only reason I remember her is because she was really good at—"

"Don't tell me things like that," Faye interrupts.

Her reaction is peculiar. It's as if she honestly had never considered I really did anything of the sort. It's interesting to see this, so I say, "I've had to listen to your personal life so much, I don't think anything you tell me will surprise me anymore. Yet, you're acting like this just because I want to say that I remember a woman who could kiss."

"Oh, kiss…" she says and her face seems to relax.

"Well, other things too." I know it's a bit much, and I'm really not going to tell her anything, but I say, "…like she did this thing—"

"Stop that," Faye says covering her ears. "It's weird hearing you say things like that."

"I don't see why," I answer. "Because, whether you want to hear it or not, it's still something that happens. Kind of like, I don't want to know that you and Damian have sex. But I still do anyway."

She glares at me, "Just go to sleep. That's what you wanted to do from the start."

"You don't mind if I take up your space?"

"I don't care anymore."

I'm about to lie down when I notice that at our distance, my head will halfway fall on her lap. I know I'm pushing my luck, but I'm curious to see how much Faye will let me hassle her. I say, "Faye, since you're wearing my coat, move closer so I can lie on your lap."

"No way!" she says moving further to her side of the seat. "You sleep forever and my legs will end up going numb."

I can't come up with any other reason and end up saying, "It's getting colder and I'll take my coat back if I feel like it." Faye closes my coat tightly around her body. "I'm serious," I continue. "I can bundle it up and use it as a pillow."

"You jerk," Faye says bitterly. "You're going to let me freeze just so you can have a pillow."

"I'm not doing anything of the sort…Aren't I actually giving you the choice? I'm a nice guy like that." The wind blows again and I smirk, "Ah, it's getting colder." I face Faye and find her all huddled up in the corner, her hands clutching the shoulders of my coat. "Don't take too long to decide because I want to sleep before Jet gets here."

A minute passes before Faye speaks. "…okay…," she says defeated.

I hadn't actually expected for her to agree, so I extend my arm towards her, waiting for her to take off my coat.

"…no…," she says, "I'll lend you my lap."

It takes a while for the phrase to register. And when it does, I can't help but laugh. Coming from her, the words sounds so awkward. I lean on the wheel trying to stop myself from laughing out loud. Faye gets angry and leaves her corner of the seat.

"Idiot," she says as her fisted hands land on my shoulder. "Idiot!" She repeats herself, letting her hands land even harder on my body.

It hurts, so I stop to grab her wrists. I try to control myself, but I grin as I see her expression. "You're blushing," I tell her.

"Who wouldn't!" She replies yanking her hands away. "I said something that sounds so embarrassing and you end up chuckling about it like an old man. It's not like there's a different way of saying it, bastard!"

"Sorry, sorry," I say ironically. "I just wasn't expecting that you'd choose that."

"No," Faye says, "I take it back. You can have your stupid coat." She pulls off one of the sleeves and her body goes stiff. I glance at her skin and notice the goose bumps.

I contain my laughter this time around and simply ask, "You sure?"

Slowly, she slides the sleeve over her arm again. She doesn't say anything and simply moves closer to the middle of the seat. It takes her a while before she says, "If my legs begin to feel numb, I'm going to push you off."

"You're legs wont go numb," I tell her.

She moves her hands away from her lap and she glances at me a bit bitterly. I assume this means it's okay for me to lie down, but I'm not too sure either.

"Hurry up," she says looking away.

I get a little nervous, but it's easier now that she's not watching me anymore. Slowly, I lay my head on her legs, my body resting on its right side. I close my eyes, but I remember something. Because I'm this close, as if the situation wasn't awkward enough, I feel that I should look at her while I speak. And worse yet, the only thing I have to say is, "Wake me up in twenty minutes."

"Uh…yeah…" She says blushing again. And it's obvious why. She looks so odd, holding her hands up next to her shoulders as if she didn't know what to do with them.

"What's wrong with you?" I say forcibly closing my eyes, trying to remain calm and not laugh although her behavior is entertaining me so much.

"…my hands…but you've been bugging me about how much you hate to have them close to your face."

"It doesn't matter," I say quietly. "You've been doing it so much, I think I'm getting used to it."

"Then," she says, "You said twenty minutes, right?" And before she's even finished speaking, I feel one of her hands resting on my neck and the other on my hair.

I want to clear my throat out so that I can speak correctly, but I'm concerned that she'll be able to tell. To keep myself from having to do so, I whisper, "…yeah…twenty."

I think it will be hard to fall asleep. I think that no matter how comfortable and warm I am, my pulse drumming in my ears will keep me awake. But as it turns out, I don't even realize when I lapse into rest. It seems like only a second passes before I hear Faye again.

She says, "Spike…wake up…my legs are going numb. Do you hear me? I'll push you off. Wait, first I'll pull your hair if you don't wake up."

I don't want to wake up. But she's serious, and soon, I feel her tugging at my hair.

"I'm awake," I tell her lethargically. "Stop doing that and I'll get up." She pulls my hair once more, a little rougher than before, and I sit up slowly. I'm still tired, so I can't even open my eyes correctly. "It's getting colder…" I say, for the first time feeling the chilly air trouble me. I cross my arms and ask, "Has Jet called you or anything?"

"Not really," Faye says stretching her legs. She pulls out her lip gloss from my coat pocket and passes it over her lips. I can smell it when she says, "Pittman got up…but she fell asleep again soon after."

I glance at Pittman to keep from staring at Faye's lips. Before, I didn't think there was a special reason for Pittman to be wearing such light clothes under such heavy coveralls and coat. But with the crazy weather changes from day to night, I finally understand. As I look at her, for the first time, I notice a small chain hanging on her neck. The necklace is made of delicate gold links but instead of a charm, it holds a rusted toothed washer. It lies between her collarbones, and fits perfectly in the space as if it is a piece of her. I can't help but wonder why she would have such a thing.

Faye says, "If you wanted to try something with her you could have…"

I decide not to deny anything and instead I turn back on the seat, cross my arms over the steering wheel, and rest my head. I keep my eyes closed, just to keep myself from staring at anything.

"Hey," Faye says quietly.

"What now?"

"Didn't you feel bad for sleeping with that woman even though she was married?"

I hadn't thought about it much before. But I answer, "Honestly…not at all."

Then, Faye asks, "Didn't she feel guilty afterwards?"

I don't understand the roots of her interest. Is she merely trying to define our lack of morals?...In the end, it doesn't worry me much so I say, "I don't think…I mean, she invited me again that same night."

"Did you go?"

"I couldn't," I say shortly. "We left for Mars that morning."

"Would you do it again?"

"Probably…" I answer. I hear her moving again, rewrapping herself in my coat. She's too quiet and so halfway jokingly, I say, "Why do you ask? Do you want to get back at Damian?" I open my eyes, but when she sees me doing this, she looks away.

Faye catches herself avoiding my glance and she faces me again. She says, "No, I was just curious…"

I say, "…but if you're curious, doesn't that mean that you're at least a bit interested."

She sighs. "…if you keep making me think about it, maybe I am…" She chuckles lightly, "And in that case, it's your fault for putting the idea in my head."

My fault…What's with that?

I decide to look away and let the topic change. But just as I'm about to do so, the wind blows through again. The lose strands of Faye's hair cross her features and a couple cling to her lips. The scent of her lip balm reaches me quickly. And suddenly, I become obsessed with figuring out what flavor she wears. I don't understand the guttural drive behind it. And I don't care. I honestly don't care what comes out of doing what I want anymore.

I stretch out my hand towards her face. She jolts. But I don't stop moving. My fingertips trace her skin and I move the stray strands of hair away from her face. Slowly, I place them behind her ear and she laughs nervously, shrinking her shoulders as I do this.

Faye says warily, "What are you—"

I let my hand slide from behind her ear to the back of her neck. I smirk and pull her in closely, teasingly saying, "So it's my fault?" And abruptly, I feel her skin becoming warm. I move closer to her, making it impossible for her to do anything but look at me.

"—that—" And then Faye freezes.

"Should I take responsibility then?" I ask, holding her with both hands and moving forward, touching her forehead with mine.

Faye tries for a second time, "—that is—" Then, she seems to panic and her hands shoot to my wrists.

"Should I?" I ask again.

But I don't bother to wait for an answer. Casually, as if it were something I did everyday, I let my lips touch hers briefly. She tightens her grip on my wrists and her eyes grow a little bigger. I do it again, letting my lips rest on hers for a second longer than before. Faye shuts her eyes and digs her nails into my skin. But it's not like she's pushing me away either. So I repeat the motion for a third time, and I allow it happen again and again until, eventually, we become stuck repeating a line of minuscule kisses.

The stiffness of Faye's body disappears and she loosens her hold of my wrists. And gradually, Faye begins to meet my mouth more often, extending the time we have before separating. Yet, even with that, it still feels as if we're much too far apart from each other.

I don't want her to know. I don't want to reveal to her how badly I want to feel the softness of her skin against mine. I try to control myself, to not be too hasty and become frantic. But I want to really kiss her. To taste and touch every single part of her body. I try and I try. But there's only so much I can do. So slowly, I slide one of my hands behind Faye's neck and I lean further into her body while kissing her deeply. Our position shifts so that Faye is reclining against the passenger door, her head resting over my right arm and my body encircling hers. The motion allows our distance to lessen. However, the changes in such a cramped space also causes or kiss to be broken.

I immediately notice her blushed face and the redness of her cheeks extending to her ears. She looks nervous and embarrassed, like she'd just been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to be seen enjoying.

I laugh quietly, resting my forehead against hers for a second time. At that instance, I smell the remains of her lip balm and I remember that I had completely forgotten about identifying it. The curiosity begins to build in me again and I say mischievously, "Not so bad, right?"

Faye doesn't answer. Instead she leans forward, slowly closing the gap between us again. The closer she gets, the clearer I can smell whatever it is that's on her lips. I focus myself on trying to figure out what it is so that I won't be concerned with the instant in which, by her free will, Faye's lips will touch mine.

The scent is appetizing. It's something like strawberry, but not so sweet. Maybe it's raspberry or blackberry. But, no. It's a certain something much more…provocative. And bittersweet.

She moves closer. And closer. And then. Faye's lips are cold. I nearly shiver as slowly, and uncertainly, I feel them over mine. She presses them softly. And then. Just a little at a time, she becomes more aggressive. I respond to her, feeling my chest tighten and a pressure building in my body.

Her hands glide forward across the length of my arms until they rest on the blades of my shoulders. I let my lips slide away from hers, kissing her cheek until I find the nape of her neck. Faye buries her face against my chest. I pull my coat away from her body. I kiss from her jaw to her shoulder and I let my caresses travel back. I rest my lips on the area between her jaw and her ear. Then, I kiss her earlobe. Faye forces her lips shut and shrinks away immediately, her hands clutching the shirt over my back.

"Don't do that," she says breathlessly.

I kiss her jaw again and whisper playfully, "Do you not like it?"

She doesn't answer.

I bite her ear. Faye reacts exactly the same as before. I laugh a little.

"I'm serious Spike," she says annoyed.

"Why?" I ask smiling, well aware of her response.

"…I don't want Pittman to wake up…," she whispers hiding her face on my shoulder.

I place my left hand on her chin, lifting her face towards mine. I kiss her lightly and say, "Doesn't that make it more interesting?"

Our lips get caught. My question is left unanswered. Faye's fingers burrow in my hair. And her lips gradually become warmer and warmer. Her mouth. Hot. And moist. And incredibly skilled.

The physical sounds of our mouths deafen me. The pleasure of our skin meeting leaves my body numb. I can't even hear or force myself to think. I forget that there is a Damian. I forget that there was a Julia. I forget about everything and anything. I …can't think at all. And just when I know I won't be able to suppress myself anymore, Faye breaks our kiss.

I force my eyes to remain shut for a second while I arrange my conscious back to some normalcy. Then, I open my eyes and see Faye's lips again. She continues to linger near me, even as we try to catch our breath. Slowly, our coordinated breathing change from deep inhales to subtle quiet breaths. She passes her soothing fingertips over my lips, removing the traces of the lip balm whose flavor I had completely forgotten about identifying.

Faye sighs slowly, wrapping her arms around my waist and pulling me closer to her body. "I was right," she says assuredly, "I'm not cold at all."

I rest my lips on her shoulder, "Should I warm you up more?"

Suddenly, Faye sucks viciously on my neck. I groan and face her quickly.

She looks at me forwardly and says, "You damn heater."

I pin her down, letting the weight of my body fall on her.

She gasps, "Spike, you're heavy."

I kiss her ear.

Faye squirms, "No, don't!" She tries to use her hands as shields. But before she gets the chance to do so successfully, I pull one of her hands away, leaving her left side exposed. "Don't you dare," she says seriously.

I smirk and kiss her ear again. Then, I whisper, "What was that? I didn't hear you." She tries to retort. But I bite her earlobe. She squirms again and exhales sharply. I laugh quietly, playing with her ear—kissing, biting, licking, sucking—doing whatever I can to make her twist her body and bite her lips.

"Spike!" Loudly. Breathless. And indulgent.

I grin with satisfaction and whisper in her ear, "Shhh…"

She's about to say something, but I catch her mouth mid syllable. I kiss her slowly, trying to extend the time in which I can enjoy her lips. She doesn't reject me and time becomes insignificant. I lose track of how long we continue to kiss. And I don't remember when Faye's body slid down so that she could rest her back on the seat. I forget when she first began to kiss my chest. Or when my fingers began to crawl under her shirt.

Everything feels so natural that it's impossible for me to define when it is I'm supposed to stop. If I kiss Faye, she kisses me back. If I shift a little, she will do the same so that our bodies won't have to be separated. If I caress her body, she will also touch mine.

Our movements become so coordinated that if feels that they're impossible to be out of sync. But just as things begin to appear unstoppable, a communicator rings. It upsets the quietness of the dessert. And it completely makes whatever connection Faye and I had to break.

"Fuck," I curse quietly, the tip of my fingers just barely digging under the wire of her bra.

Faye looks away from me to the direction of the ringing. "Answer."

I force my hand to leave her skin and extend towards the communicator. I just barely catch a glance of the screen. I immediately stop. Just seeing his name makes me bitter.

"Here," I say handing her the communicator, "It's your boyfriend."

She pushes me away quickly and forcefully.

I don't try to hide my displeasure, and somehow I feel really upset. "You don't have to do that," I say soberly.

I take her hands away from my chest, moving myself away from her. Faye stares at me confused, obviously unsure of what it is she's doing. I extend the communicator towards her again. She watches it ring in my hand but doesn't move.

"Take it. Or what? Should I answer for you?"

"Don't," Faye finally says, clumsily taking the communicator away.

I sit on my side of the seat, again reclining against the wheel of the jeep. The communicator rings one more time. But then Faye denies the call. She holds the communicator tightly over her lap and glances at me. She sits there, right next to me, with a tension around her that manages to make me feel uncomfortable. I want to say or do something that will make things normal again, but I can't manage to think of anything.

The wind blows roughly and I feel my lips drying out. After the gust passes, my lips desperately crave the moisture of Faye's mouth again. But I know that it won't happen anymore, and I'm left with having to lick the traces of her touch over my lips. As I do, I catch a hint of that flavor I have been unable to make out.

I clear my throat silently and ask, "So, what was that on your lips anyway?"

"Pomegranate," she says slowly.

"…That makes more sense," I say. "I thought it was some sort of berry."

"No," she says shaking her head a bit, "it's pomegranate." Then, she adds hastily, "But what you said earlier reminds me of something. I was thinking about getting Ed a cake for her birthday. Do you think she'd like something like strawberry shortcake?"

Though I already know the answer, I can't get it off the tip of my tongue. Just as I figure out one of the words, I loose it in the remnants of Faye's actions. While pretending to think, I dig through my pockets and find my cigarettes. I light a smoke quickly and try to cover the taste of Faye's mouth with nicotine. Otherwise, I don't think I will be able to think about anything else.

Finally, I'm able to get the words out, "Probably. But I'm sure she'll be fine with it so long as it has some amount of sugar."

Gradually, the awkward silence and tension disappears. For the rest of our time waiting for Jet, we continue talking to each other as if nothing had happened. And it seems like our time waiting ends much sooner than expected.

As we spot the lights of the jeep, Faye moves back to the other side of the seat. We wait a few more seconds and Jet finally arrives in a green jeep. As he gets nearer, he dims the lights and then turns off the engine. I spot Ed sitting strapped to the passengers seat and on the backseat there's a woman wrapped in blankets.

Jet steps out of the jeep and goes to the back. I hear the sloshing of liquid and I step out of my spot to uncap the fuel tank. Jet walks next to me with a container of fuel. He says, "How did it go?"

The way he asks, I'm unsure of what exactly he's referring to. Although I'm doubtful, I say shortly, "Fine."

After Jet is finished, we go back to our respective places and start the engines of the vehicles. Because Ed is in charge of the coordinates, I follow Jet back to the main road from which we diverted. The night is quiet and the time it takes for us to reach the Bebop feels passive compared to the day's events.

By the time we finally arrive, it's too late and we are forced to shelter both Pittman and Anna. The next morning Jet and I go return the vehicles. By the afternoon, we are on our way to the nearest police department. However, it isn't until five that we are able to turn in both of the girls.

I can't get rid of my foul mood. And even finally getting to turn Pittman in doesn't make me feel much better. Of course, it doesn't help that Pittman is no longer wearing duct tape over her mouth.

She says, "Last night, I witnessed something interesting, didn't I?"

It surprises me. But I'm able to remain calm and respond, "Something interesting? I thought it was rather uneventful."

"Liar," she says resentfully. "You and her. You're both liars. The way you behave towards each other…it's just a big lie."

I don't have a particular reason to care for what she thinks. But somehow, I feel obligated to defend myself. I say, "But you're the same aren't you?"

"How dare you!" She shouts, trying to jerk herself away from me.

I pull her arms down and force her to stay still. She struggles a little longer but stops, noticing she's not progressing at all. I speak quietly, to ensure she's the only one that can hear me. "You say you have a fear of men, but yet you wear that rusted thing around your neck. I couldn't find a reason for a girl to wear such an ugly thing, but it's because someone you love with gave it to you, right?"

"No it's not."

"A rusted washer on a gold necklace…that's just odd…if you really didn't care about it, wouldn't you wear it with something like a cord. But no, it's a toothed washer on a gold chain…I know. Your brother was a mechanic, right? When he gave that to you, he said something like, doesn't this look just like a flower?"

I feel her body becoming stiff and I feel the blood pulsating quickly underneath the veins of her arms. She lowers her head and I hear her swallow. I smirk, knowing that I'm right.

I continue, "And since he was your brother, you couldn't tell him you loved him. So you just pretended to hate men so that he wouldn't think it was odd that you didn't date any guy. But one day he finally left with a woman who was beautiful…someone he actually gave real flowers too. Right? Because, the way you hurt your victims, disfiguring them like that, isn't it because you're jealous of them? You're brother never even considered you a woman. That's why you're so obsessed with being seen as one. When he left, he must have found someone curvy and feminine. You said you wanted Faye, but it's really that you wanted to have her body…you're just jealous. What you do is not unique. Except, you're smart enough to make your attacks look like some man's disgusting sexual fetish."

She doesn't say or do anything, as if she was well aware of what her actions revealed. We walk closer to the turn-in point and she remains silent. I see the officer at the counter waving me forward. But before we're close enough for anyone to hear, Pittman finally says, "But you didn't figure that out until now."

I'm able to answer quickly, "Haven't you heard? Better late than never." Then, I turn to the officer and give him Pittman's bounty ID number.

The officer inputs the information on the computer. As I see the screen reflected on the man's glasses, I also see his eyebrows jump in confusion. He rubs the bridge of his nose and says, "Are you trying to pull my leg, son? I'm at least twenty years ahead of you for that. It says here Pittman's a man."

I sigh in annoyance and restrain Pittman's new attack before speaking. "Listen, she really is Pittman. I'm tired of dealing with her, so, just run whatever check you need to so I can get my money and leave."

Pittman says innocently, "You want to get rid of me? But I'm growing quite fond of you."

The officer rolls his eyes at Pittman. He says to me, "Well, there were some partial prints lifted off from the scenes, but they didn't find a match yet. I guess we could run a check. But…" He clicks on a few things and his eyebrows jump a little higher still. "What's this? They found Anna McCaskey."

"Yeah, my partner brought her to the Missing Persons Department a while ago."

"So that was you too…Well…the information's just been updated…still…I wouldn't have believed it. Sam Pittman's a woman."

I want to make Pittman uncomfortable so I say, "And a pretty one, right? It seems like a waste to have to turn her in."

The officer laughs, "But all the pretty ones are like that."

I snicker, watching Pittman's face become flushed in both discomfort and anger.

The officer says, "We'll need to take prints anyway and confirm her identity. For now, we'll give you a voucher and if the prints match, you'll be able to cash it in."

He asks for my ID and begins the transaction. Then, he calls someone and, in a matter of seconds, a second officer comes. As she's about to put handcuffs over Pittman's hands, she notices the worn duct tape wrapping. She stares at me confused, but I dismiss her with, "Be careful, she's good with locks."

The first officer hands me the voucher and I don't bother watching Pittman being dragged to the back of the offices. She yells after me, "Timing is everything!"

But I continue walking. Did she expect to shock me? Does she think I don't know this? Hearing this from her, it's kind of insulting.

I open the main doors of the building and step outside into the mild-weathered evening. I instinctively yawn. Weather like this always makes me sleepy.

I begin making my way to the Missing Persons Department, pushing away Pittman's words. Then, I hear my name being called. I lift my eyes from the concrete sidewalk and scan the crowd before me. Suddenly, my arm is yanked backwards and I feel a cool thumb against my palm.

I turn around quickly. "What's that for? I was already waiting."

But Faye takes a hold of my wrist with her other hand, pulling my arm down to maintain her balance. She takes a deep breath and says, "Already waiting? How many times do you think I called after you? I even had to run to catch up…Didn't you see me waiting for you?"

"I didn't…Besides, I told you I'd go find you after I got done."

"Don't be like that," she says uninterestedly, "I was done first so this makes more sense." She takes one more deep breath and releases my hand. Although it should feel like I'm being relieved of extra weight, it feels more uncomfortable.

She stands besides me and we begin making our way back to the Bebop. I say, "Before you even ask, they didn't give us the cash yet. Because of the issues with Pittman's gender, we only got a voucher."

Faye grunts in annoyance. We try to talk to each other, but it seems like we've suddenly run out of things to say. So, we walk quietly, through a comfortable silence amidst the busy street.

I don't know whether it's the crowded sidewalk pushing us together or whether Faye's getting cold again. But, from time to time, I can feel her walking closer to me. I don't try to move away. I don't try to move closer. Sometimes, our arms and hands bump against each other. But Faye doesn't seem to notice.

I glance at her. She looks at me for a second and then turns back to the street. And unexpectedly, I realize that I have zero control over my feelings. If I could only manage to make myself ignore her, then I wouldn't be locked to the outcome of her choices. As we are, I will never be any closer to her than what she'll allow for me to be. I'm stuck in the middle ground that results in nothing.

*** * * Ch. 8 End, Continued on Ch. 9 * * ***

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><p><strong>About this chapter:<strong> A very hard chapter to write. How should I say this…I've always written the intimate interaction between Spike and Faye to be something relatively serious. For this, I really wanted to write something different, so I'm left with a relative casual and awkward situation. I think it works out for the plot, but I curse the weeks I spent trying to make it work.

Next one is chapter 9, please be patient for the update! And thanks to those who have been supporting the story so far!

_Until then!_


	9. Something About Us

_It was sooner than later. XD Here is chapter nine, please enjoy!_

*** * * Ch. 9 – SOMETHING ABOUT US (Daft Punk) * * ***

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><p>Faye really left a mark.<p>

I stare at the mirror, pulling down the collar of my shirt. There, at the very base of my neck is the dark spot that refuses to disappear. I tap it with my fingers. How much longer will it be before it fades away? Maybe I should do something about it.

I sigh and release the collar of my shirt.

I brush my teeth. Then, I turn the water on and let it run until it becomes warm. I wash my face and shave. Afterwards, I walk back to my room and change out of my sleeping clothes.

Somehow, everything has become so stagnant. Even though we continue to travel, the ship never seems to change location. The weather doesn't change. Even all of the food tastes the same. The day goes by without anything of importance occurring and night returns as if it had never left.

At dinner, we're all sitting around the kitchen table, eating quietly the last remains of food on our plates. Ed finishes first. She thanks Jet for the food and carries her dishes to the sink before hurrying out of the kitchen calling out Ein's name. I purposely finish second, rushing through the last bits, just to ensure I won't have to share a table with Faye. It's been three days since Pittman's hunt, and somehow I just can't stand being alone with her anymore.

I walk to my room and lay down on the bed while browsing through a ship care magazine. I fold the corners of pages from articles I find useful. Although it may be a while before we can cash the voucher for Pittman, I'm hoping that my cut will be enough to service and update my Swordfish. Afterwards, I pick up the book that's been sitting on my nightstand for over three months, the one that's been opened once and bookmarked on page thirteen. I read until page sixteen and fall asleep without realizing it.

When I wake up, it's barely turned eight at night. I sit up in bed and begin thinking of whatever time-consuming anything I can do to distract myself. I decide to look for Jet to ask how soon we'll be landing; maybe I'll be able to do something around town. As I walk through the corridors, I look out of a small window. To my surprise, we've already docked on shore. I rub the back of my neck, wondering when I became such a deep sleeper.

Maybe I'm just really tired. Or maybe it's my age…well…I know I'm not that old, but I'm still aging whether I want to admit it or not. I sigh and then I clear my mind by staring at the water. Watching it relaxes me, but it also reminds me that I'm thirsty. So, I head to the kitchen for something to drink.

While I'm walking through the living room, I notice Faye sleeping on the couch. Her body is indecently sprawled, like if she didn't even have enough energy to consider lying down properly. I pretend I don't notice her and walk to the kitchen. The dishes are all clean and sitting out to dry, I grab the same glass I'd used for dinner and fill it with water. I finish it quickly and then I refill the glass again. I stand over the sink, this time drinking the water slowly.

As I finish the last drink, I hear Faye saying from the living room. "I wish it would rain…" Since I can't tell whom she is speaking to, I decide not to answer. But then, she says, "Spike?"

I walk back into the living room to find her sitting up, clearing away her eyes. "Why would you want it to rain?" I say, "It's fine like this." Then, I spot my coat on the corner of the couch.

"But if it rained, I would feel the need to stay in bed. With it being like this, it makes me feel like I should get out…even if I have no idea where to…" She stops and watches me put on my coat. "Hey…you're going out aren't you?"

I answer shortly, "Yeah."

"Where to?"

"I don't know…" I say thoughtlessly, "I'll probably end up in a bar."

"If that's the case," she says standing up, "I'm coming too."

I don't look at her, "No."

Faye rolls her eyes. "I didn't ask for your permission," she responds crossly. "Besides, it's not like I'm going there to be with you. Jet told me you guys had been here before, so you must know where to find a good bar. I might as well take advantage of this. I don't care if as soon as we get there we pretend we don't know each other."

I try to get her to change her mind, but it's impossible. I give up after a few minutes since it's not necessarily that I mind her coming along. Rather, the problem is that I was hoping to be able to clear my head, and with her around, I'm not able to do so.

At least, during the walk there, Faye keeps her distance from me. No matter how crowded or empty the streets are she keeps walking about two steps away. She doesn't say anything either. And I wonder if she understands that when I go out for a drink what I'm really looking forward to is a quiet walk.

I stop in front of the familiar bar. I open the door and the smell of beer carries outside. Faye and I step inside. We stand by the door looking at the seating. The five stools on the counter are full. Of the seven tables, only two are empty. But they're right next to each other and one of them seats only two. I stare at the tables, deciding how awkward it would be to not sit together since of their proximity.

"Come in, come in," one of the people serving at the counter says. "It's a bit busy, so if you two aren't waiting for more company, would you mind taking the smaller table?"

"We're not toge—" Faye says.

But I interrupt her, "It's fine."

Between pretending to be strangers sitting next to each other on different tables or sitting together, I'm sure the latter will feel less uncomfortable. Somehow, I've gotten used to dealing with myself and my anxiousness around Faye on a day-to-day basis. Sitting together, if anything, it's ordinary.

So, I walk over to the smaller table and take a seat. Faye watches me for a second before doing the same. We don't say much. And we don't drink much either. We just sit there wasting time. From time to time, I can see some awkward glances shot our way. I guess because of our behavior, people think that we're mad at each other.

It doesn't take long for the empty table besides us to fill up. It's a group of four, from the looks of it, two couples. They're a rowdy, frisky bunch, but the whole place seems to have a level of activity befitting them. I sigh, remembering how quiet it had been the first time I came.

I should keep better track of time. I should have come earlier to avoid the Friday night rush. I'm sure if that had been the case, the place would've been just as quiet as the night I first came here.

Neither Faye nor I have finished our first drink. We had ordered the same thing. We're drinking it at the same rate. We're even making the same expressions while waiting for nothing.

Then, she moves out of cycle.

I glance at her. She takes her glass by the rim and slowly begins to rotate it over and over. She slides her fingers up and down the side of the glass, playing with the dew erupting from its surface. And then, she seems genuinely entertained as she begins to spread the cold water on her fingertips and traces out shapes and lines over the tabletop.

I don't catch myself, and I laugh.

She glares at me. I try to stop myself from smiling, but the drawings are still too prominent on the table. Suddenly, Faye dips her fingers into my glass. I try to pull my drink away, but it's too late and I just end up spilling some of it over the table. Faye smirks. Then, she writes quickly, 'idiot.'

I stare at the word for a second before using some of the liquor I'd spilled to force the characters to merge. But while I do that, Faye's already written it again. I look at her and say, "Seriously?"

"No," she says mockingly, "it's idiot." I pretend not to hear her and begin to trade our glasses since I'd spilled most of what was left in mine. "Hey! Don't do that!" she says grabbing my wrist. We stare firmly at each other while she tries to peel my fingers apart from the cold, damp glass.

"Spike?"

I turn away from Faye, simultaneously releasing her drink. I hear the ice colliding, the glass landing clumsily on the table, and her name easily escapes my lips, "Lillian."

Faye turns from Lillian to me, forgetting her glass in the middle of the table that's all splattered with whiskey drawings.

"This is surprising," Lillian says smiling warmly. "I didn't expect to see you around anymore."

"I didn't expect to come around either," I say.

Lillian laughs.

"And what about you?" I ask her, "You're in a bar again."

"I know!" she says embarrassed. "But I've gotten used to coming around here. I made good friends with the owner's wife. As it turns out, she's the instructor in my cooking class."

I shift a bit on the chair so that I can face her properly. But as I do, my hand slides over the whiskey on the tabletop. I glance at Faye and I notice the corners of her mouth jump a bit, as if she is trying to say, "isn't this nice?" But I can't tell whether there's any sarcasm to her expression.

"Ah," Lillian says towards Faye, "are you a bounty hunter too?"

"…yeah."

"Wow. I wish I could be daring enough to do that, but I like buying things for myself and I worry too much about not having enough money to do so. So, I can't stand being without a steady job." Then, Lillian blushes and says, "Sorry, I just barged in and interrupted." She turns to face me when she says, "I just wanted to at least say hi."

Faye answers courteously, "Don't worry. It's not often that someone actually wants to say hello to us. Right, Spike?" It's as if she's suddenly returned to the soft, well-mannered Faye that belongs next to Damian. Not the one that dips her fingers in my whiskey to write idiot on the table.

Lillian looks at the whiskey smears. She faces me and says, "Anyway, it was fun to see you here since I thought I wouldn't again. It's too bad you have company or a little reunion would've been fun."

"You mean because of me?" Faye says quickly, using a polite tone of voice that ticks me off. "I think you're misunderstanding something."

Lillian continues looking back and forth between the two of us. For a moment, my uneasiness at Faye's response prevents me from realizing Lillian's discomfort. But when I notice, I simply say, "The place was just short on space."

Again, Faye doesn't hesitate to confirm this. She says, "That's right, so there's nothing for you to feel embarrassed about."

I glance at the whiskey smears over the table. Some of the lines and shapes that Faye had drawn first have disappeared. But in the middle of the table, 'idiot' is prominently set. I stare at the word, smirking. Faye is right….I'm being an idiot for thinking she'll try to keep me sitting with her in the table that's so small our knees touch.

I rise from the chair unhesitantly. I look at Faye and say, "I'll go ahead and leave this spot open for you."

Lillian answers nervously, "You don't have to—"

"Hey Spike," Faye interrupts Lillian. She keeps her sight on the table. Then, she pulls both of the whiskey glasses towards her, pouring what's left of mine into her glass. "When will you be back?" she says coolly, "You know, Jet will ask."

"I don't know." I answer distantly, "I'll deal with that later…"

Faye shrugs her shoulders unconcernedly, still keeping her sight restrained within the small radius of the tabletop.

"Let's go," I say to Lillian. I head towards the door and she follows, walking uncertainly next to me.

She reaches for my hand and holds it as she asks, "Are you sure this is okay?"

"It's fine."

We walk outside and I ask Lillian if there's anywhere in particular she wants to go. She thinks about it for a second and says that anywhere except her house would be fine. She tells me that Mick is living there now and that she's renting out an apartment closer to the middle of town. We walk in silence for about a block.

I decide to ask her. "So, how are things with your husband?"

"Great! Or at least for my part."

"How's that?"

She covers her lips as she giggles mischievously. Then, she says, "You should have seen his reaction, it was wonderful! That morning after we'd spent the night, he came back home asking me to take him back. But he didn't knock or anything. He jut used his key to get in as if he'd never decided to leave me."

I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it, "Really?"

"Yes," she smiles, "but since we stayed up until late, he woke me up and I was still sleeping in bed and I wasn't dressed or anything. And then, he found the saucer you'd used as an ashtray. But Mick knows I don't smoke, so he started freaking out, begging me to explain to him what had happened."

I take a drag and let the smoke dissipate before me. "Did you?"

She nods. "I told him I'd done the same thing he'd done. And he really took it badly. Probably worse then I did."

I laugh a little, "I nearly feel guilty."

"Don't," she assures me playfully. "The idiot is a hypocrite, saying he doesn't love me and then that he does. I applied for our divorce that same day as well, but he still won't sign the papers claiming he loves me." Lillian sighs. "Enough of that…So, Faye, is she really a bounty hunter too?"

I smoke a few times, before saying. "Yeah…She's worked with Jet and me for a long time. But over a year ago, she got into a serious relationship and went to live with her boyfriend. It's just been about five weeks since she came back." I stretch my neck before saying, "They had a fight or something…"

"Hey, Spike," she says mischievously.

"Hm?"

"This on your neck." She places her finger on the skin right above the collar of my shirt, "Is it from her?"

"Ah," I say touching the marked area, "You can see it?"

"A bit. When you stretched just now."

"She really…" I sigh, "It just won't go away."

Lillian laughs a little. "If you want, I can get rid of it for you…But…Spike…if you're with her in this kind of relationship, are you sure it's okay for you to be here."

I'm the one to laugh this time. "It's fine," I tell her. "This is really a lot more worthless that you could imagine."

She hugs my arm and rests her head on my shoulder as we walk. She says, "…that sounds…complicated."

"…Yeah," I respond shortly. I take a deep drag from my cigarette "…more than you think…"

"Spike…"

"…Hm?"

"Do you want to…call me…Faye tonight?"

I look at her quickly. And, although I hear what she's saying, her words don't seem to make sense. I can't decide weather I heard correctly or if my delusional mind is taking control of me. "…What?"

She doesn't repeat herself, but she says calmly, "I…really like the way you look at her. And for tonight, I'd like for you to look at me like that…because…you have feelings for her…right?"

I don't feel like I'm obligated to respond. But because of all she's told me about herself, I feel like I can reveal myself to her.

"…Yeah…"

As the word leaves me, I sense a lightness in my chest. Like I have gotten rid of something that keeps pulling me down. It's nearly the same feeling I had experienced when Jet had tried to get me to admit something. But it's stronger now, I guess because I'm not trying to hide anything under the premise that Faye is already with someone else.

"Then," Lillian says, "can we pretend that I'm her?" She smiles. I don't answer her. And then Lillian sighs. She begins, "The truth is…I'm not the type of person who can stand being single. So, I've been kind of lonely lately. But I'm so tired of relationships and I really don't want to deal with anyone right now…I don't want to feel alone, even if it's just pretend…Actually, I want to do this simply because I know it's make believe."

"I don't—"

But she persists, clinging to my arm a little tighter. "Don't you feel lonely right now? I'm so lonely I can't stand it. C'mon. It'll be fun." She places her finger on my neck again, "If this is nothing, then I'm guessing you guys actually haven't gotten very far, right? So, you can do with me what you wanted to do with her."

I laugh at myself. Mostly for even considering her offer.

Lillian notices and she casually loosens my tie. She says, "You must want to do some really perverted things."

"Isn't it you who's trying to provoke me again?"

"Yes," she answers easily. "But is it wrong if I want you to think that way?"

"…Not really."

"Good," she says gently hugging my arm. "Then tonight," she says softly, "can I be your Faye?"

I really want to refuse her. I want to answer her quickly with no. But I can't. The longer I think about it…I really hate to admit it but…"Okay."

She smiles and a sigh of relief escapes her lips. Her shoulders relax and she says playfully, "Aren't you going to call me Faye?"

I try to but I can't. I didn't expect it to be so hard. I didn't think a name was much of anything. I take a drag from my cigarette, trying to clear my throat so that I can get myself to say it. But even then, it takes me a while before I can answer her, "Okay, Faye."

Lillian giggles. "Like I thought, even your voice is different."

'That's not true' I lie to myself. Then, I tell her, "It's the awkwardness of calling you by a different name."

"What do you mean?" She says delicately turning my face towards her, "Tonight I'm her, so tonight my name is Faye."

I trace every feature of her face with my eyes. They are nothing alike. Lillian's eyebrows are softer and her eyes aren't as sharp. Her nose isn't as sharp and her lips are small and plump. Even the shade of her eyes is different; green, but lighter. Yet.

Somehow. They all remind me of Faye…I don't want to feel this. Still…I can't stop myself from wanting to believe that I really am with Faye. I hate myself for craving it. But I want her so much that I'm seriously this satisfied with pretending.

I kiss Lillian like I had kissed Faye the night we were in the desert. Or rather, I kiss her without having to control myself. I kiss her like I wish I had kissed Faye—I kiss her as if I were kissing Faye. Because. She's the Faye I'll never have…

The next day, when I arrive at the Bebop, it's already nine in the morning. I try to come in quietly so that I can go to bed without being bothered by anyone. But my plan fails. As I walk in, I see Jet working on a vent of the hallway. He glances at me before placing the vent in place. I walk past him. But he calls my name.

When he speaks, it's not anger or even annoyance. He simply states, "Faye came back alone. Really pissed off…" He finally looks at me, "Did you do something?"

I consider my words carefully, "I didn't do anything to upset her."

Jet stands up, stretching his back. He says, still using a relaxed tone, "Then what did you do? Coming back like this, it must have been something." He smirks, "Hell, I even thought you had died."

I ignore his attempt at humor and respond, "I was with someone."

"Was it that woman you saw last time we were here?"

I say, "Not exactly."

"Not exactly?" Jet asks puzzled.

"It's nothing really," I answer honestly.

Jet takes a minute to think. Even though he still seems to be considering the situation he says, "And you left Faye for something like that?"

I want to tell him that, in a twisted way, I had been with Faye all night. But I'm sure no one but Lillian and I could understand the reason why we did something like that. Instead, I just say, "Yeah…" I feel like I need to justify myself further, so I say, "But…it's not like Faye can't take care of herself."

"What is it with you," Jet tells me quickly, "hadn't you finally admitted it to yourself?"

"I know!" I answer, for the first time revealing just a fraction of my frustration. Jet stares at me. I shift my glance away from him, surprised at my own, nearly insignificant outburst. I calm down as I fill the silence by saying, "But I also know it doesn't matter anymore…never did…" But my control slips again, "She's so fucking obsessed with Damian."

Jet lets my words hang in the air. Then, he says, "So you're just giving up?"

I smirk. "Was I ever trying anything?"

He scratches his jaw twice and says, "But Spike…she was really upset."

"I know…" I tell him calmly. "But it's not that she's upset because of what I did…I think that she's just too damn mad at Damian and I'm the one having to put up with it."

"What makes you think that?"

A lot of things did. Except I hadn't noticed them until I had used Lillian as Faye's substitute. I didn't really understand before…But, as I walked to the Bebop that morning, when I realized that I would have to face the real Faye again, things finally made sense. And it all basically comes down to the fact that Faye is angry with Damian. The only way she can get back at him is through me. When there are times that she misses him too much, she pretends that I am that bastard she loves.

But I don't tell Jet any of this. Instead, I say, "She's developed this bad habit." I laugh quietly, "I think I'm being used."

"…that purple thing on your neck?" Jet asks.

"It's nothing…she did it only to make Damian jealous. Or like, whenever I went to meet her at the park, she called me because she couldn't ask for Damian to go find her…Everything she's doing…it's just because of him."

"Well, I wouldn't know." He says, "But if that's how things are, then…"

He doesn't finish saying anything. Instead, we both continue making our way into the ship. Jet mentions something about Ed's birthday, but I'm too distracted to care much. He notices and leaves me as he makes his way into the engine room. I walk slowly, trying to decide if there is something that I should do. I hear my stomach growling and decide to find something to eat before going to bed.

As I walk into the kitchen, I see Faye standing next to the coffee pot. I remember Lillian. And I feel guilty, so much so that I can't even look at her. Then, I remember that I'm Faye's Lillian. And every insecurity disappears.

I walk to the cupboard and pick up a mug, then wait for Faye to finish pouring her cup of coffee. She moves aside when she's finished, not even willing to face me. I had expected this already, and I don't care at all. But as I finish pouring my coffee, I see her struggling with the sugar.

Faye is holding the spoon over her cup, slowly letting the grains of sugar pour into it. Then, even as the sugar reaches the brim, she lets it continue falling onto the spoon. When the sugar is built up too high, it cascades into the coffee. But it's too late by the time Faye realizes. As she attempts to keep too much sugar from falling into the cup, she ends up dropping both the spoon and the sugar on the counter.

I glimpse at the sugar spread on the countertop. I glance at Faye and she's staring blankly at the mess. Her expression elicits me to say, "What's wrong with you?"

She blinks and answers hastily, "Nothing."

"I can tell you're lying," I say, walking away from the counter.

I don't insist on having her tell me anything. Rather, I continue looking for something that I could eat. I look through the pantry and find a danish. I pick it up considering whether it would qualify as breakfast. Faye doesn't move away from the counter. For a few seconds, the only noise in the room is the evaporating and dripping water of the coffee maker. I stand up, unwrapping the pastry, having decided that as long as I wasn't hungry anymore, it would be fine.

I sit at the table. When I take a bite from the danish, Faye finally begins to clean up the mess on the counter. Since she can't stand coffee unless it has just the right amount of sugar, she ends up pouring her first cup down the drain. By the time she's pouring her second cup, I'm already finished with the pastry and coffee.

She's about to turn the coffee machine off. "Wait." I rise from the table, "I want more."

While I'm refilling my cup, Faye pours out exactly one spoonful of sugar. She submerges the spoon into her coffee, mixing it in carefully. I begin to walk out of the kitchen. I hear the spoon rattling in Faye's cup just as she says, " I heard. Just now. I heard what you said about me"—she corrects herself quickly—"about Damian."

I try to speak. But I can't. I swallow to clear my throat. But it doesn't work. I take a drink from my coffee. It's plain black and bitter. "…Liar," I find myself answering. "So, what else did you hear?"

She pulls the spoon away from her cup and places it in the sink. It doesn't surprise me when says, "Nothing else."

I smirk, "Bullshit…You hear only what you want to hear."

"So what!" Faye tells me angrily. "So what if that's what I want to do? If you had—Now, anything else I heard doesn't matter."

I'm not angry or disappointed. I'm feeling exactly as I had expected. It's not a foreign sensation anymore; it's simply the feeling of being lonely. "…You're right," I say to her confidently, "It's nothing anyway."

But it feels like that's not all that needs to be said. So we stand in the middle of the kitchen, drinking coffee and awkwardly shifting glances.

"I hate this…" Faye says quietly, "I forget that we're both like this. I hear what I want to hear. You see what you want to see. I say what I want to say. And you do what you want to do."

"Something about us…" I begin. "When you put it that way…there's something seriously wrong."

"Isn't there?" Faye responds laughing nervously. Suddenly, her sight stops on my neck. I follow her gaze, realizing the collar of my shirt is open. She says, "…it's gone."

"Yeah…You use the back of a cold spoon."

Then somehow, we end up at the deck of the ship, sitting on the edge with our feet hovering high above the water. At some point, everything that had happened seems to be extraneous. Because now, we're acting as if we're still drinking our coffee; even if it's gotten cold and it's just been sitting there. We're pretending that nothing was ever said in the kitchen…because when it comes to our situation, there's nothing else that can or should be said. Things are what they are now and there is nothing that I can do about it. And Faye has other things to concern herself with.

"…I made up with Damian two days ago," she tells me.

"That's good," I answer truthfully. "I was getting tired of having you bother me with it."

Still, I really feel like smoking. I dig through my pockets, but, to my displeasure, I can't find my cigarettes. I sigh, realizing that I must have forgotten them at the hotel…maybe on the bed stand in Lillian's side of the bed.

Faye sighs. "I told him about the night of Pittman's hunt…He got upset. But when he's like that…I feel…" She struggles to finish her sentence and clears her bangs from her eyes. She assumes I already know what she's going to say and continues jokingly, "I guess, more or less, getting back at him actually worked…"

"That's nice," I say shortly, making sure that the tone of my voice is unreadable. I stare at the water waving before us. I don't want to look at her. And I don't need to either. Just by the tone of her voice, I know that she's smiling.

"He apologized a lot." Faye says, "He's not very good at it, but…it's kind of cute."

I impulsively face her, "Don't be gross."

She exhales heavily, "At times like this, I really wish you were a woman."

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

"But think about it," she insists. "If that had been the case. Who knows, we might have actually become really close friends."

I look back at the water, biting my tongue to keep myself from saying useless things. Because it has already come down to this. For Faye, our current state has become something that she can joke about so quickly. It's become something that doesn't matter. The things I feel. They're nothing. And if they exist, it's for the sake of a joke.

"That sounds boring," I say slowly, involuntarily yawning. "…guess I'm tired. I'm going to bed…" I rise up from the deck and begin walking away. Before I'm too far, and because it's irrelevant now, I decide to say one more thing. "By the way," I begin, "if that had been the case. That I had been born a woman I mean. What makes you think we wouldn't have become lesbian lovers instead?"

Faye turns around, wearing an incredulous face as says, "Shut up!" Then, she's serious again as she finishes, "Just go to bed already…And take a shower or something."

"I showered this morning," I respond, still walking.

"I know," she says turning away. "You stink like hotel soap."

That's the last I hear of her. I don't realize how much I actually sleep and by the time I wake up we're already in Mars. When I don't see Faye around for dinner, and because Ed doesn't seem to be bringing it up any time soon, I ask Jet where she went. He tells me that she's already moved back with Damian.

He says, "She thought you'd get mad for waking you up."

"She's probably right," I tell Jet and continue eating.

Without Faye, the days pass slowly again. It doesn't help that every minute of the day, Ed continuously reminds me of how many days are left before her birthday; of how many days are left before Faye comes back to visit us again. I don't last very long just listening to this.

Even though I know very clearly that nothing will come out of seeing Faye again, I am, inevitably, affected. After only two days have passed, I decide to submerge myself in work. I don't complicate myself with handpicking bounties; I just take whatever case I can get. It's mostly small, easy things. But in my situation, being able to do multiple hunts forces my mind to continuously switch gears and prevents me from thinking too much about seeing her again.

Time goes by much faster this way. So, even on the day of Ed's birthday, I continue working. As I'm about to leave the Bebop for another hunt, Jet calls out to me. He tells me that Faye is going to come back for dinner at around six. I say to him that I'll try to be back in time to eat, but that if I'm not, to at least save me something.

The hunt turns out to be just as hard as I had expected. By the time I have collected my reward, it's seven thirty. But on my way back to the Bebop, somehow, I can't find a way to force myself to return.

I don't debate my reasoning. I don't feel like going back, so I won't. I'll do whatever it is that I want to do.

So instead of returning to the Bebop, I spend the evening sitting in a park bench and smoking the few cigarettes that I have left. I don't remember when was the last time that I was this relaxed. My thoughts may be killing me, but in the end, there is nothing I can do about them anymore, so it doesn't matter. And I can just sit here and do nothing but watch others while time passes me slowly.

After getting bored of watching the same types of people passing by, I decide that I don't feel like being outside anymore. I stand up from the bench and begin walking to the Bebop. I make a stop at a convenience store; but it still takes me only thirty minutes to get home. By the time I'm back, it's already eleven.

When I walk into the living room, no one is there and I don't see anything out of place. And somehow, I'm able to breathe easily. I dig into my pocket and pull out a box of mints shaped like strawberries. I sit it down next to Ed's computer and head to the kitchen. As I walk there, Ein comes to greet me. I try to get him to leave, but he follows after me, I presume, hungry.

I look inside the fridge and find a strawberry shortcake. Or at least, a quarter of one. I sight. If I had known Faye had decided on this, I would have gotten the pineapple shaped mints. Just then, Ein pushes his way through the gap between my legs and the fridge door. He looks up at me like if he were smiling.

"Go away," I tell him, "I don't like dogs."

He stares at me for a second and then gives a step back. He looks around for a while. Then, he walks underneath the table and lies down. He crosses his paws and lets his head rest.

I watch him breathe deeply, then, I continue looking for food. Behind the cake, I spot a plate that's wrapped in foil paper. I move the cake out of the way and uncover a corner of the plate. I check to see what it is, pull it out of the fridge, and place it to heat in the microwave all in one fluid, nearly automatic motion. While the food is heating, I pour myself something to drink. Then, I wait next to the microwave until my food is ready.

I sit down at the table and begin to eat. After a couple of bites, I feel Ein pawing my leg. I look down at him. He stares back, with his mouth hanging a bit open. I shake him off and continue eating. But he does it again.

I pick up a slice of meat from my plate, "This is what you want isn't it?" Ein's eyes glow with happiness. I let the small piece of meat fall to the ground. He picks it up quickly and begins chewing. "Damn dog…you have it too easy." He tilts his head. I sigh. "I can't believe I'm so pathetic that I'm talking to you." I laugh at myself, knowing that I had already done many other pitiable things.

Ein finishes chewing the piece of meat. He licks his mouth then stares at me again, sitting at a respectable distance. He looks much too happy to have finished eating something that, because of my thoughts, I can't even taste. He angles his head to the left. I pick up another piece of meat and let it fall between his paws.

"A dog's life…I wonder if that really isn't better."

I watch him finish eating the piece of meat before I continue with my meal. After a few minutes, Ein is still sitting besides me, looking at me with big, begging eyes. Because of that, and because he seems to be enjoying it much more than I could, I decide to continue feeding him from my plate. By the time my meal is finished, it feels like I've given him half of it.

I clear the table and walk out of the kitchen. Ein doesn't follow me anymore. He stays behind, curled up underneath the table. I look back at him and he lazily lifts his head before crossing his paws and closing his eyes.

"…you're just like Faye…" I say offhandedly.

I don't notice Jet coming in until he asks, "Who is?"

"Who is what?"

Jet sighs, "Forget it…How long have you been here anyway?"

"A little while." I lie, "The hunt ended up being much more bothersome than I expected."

"Is that so?" he says. "Then, rest well. I came because I heard someone and I thought that maybe Faye had forgotten something."

"Why's that?"

"She stayed longer than she planned and had to leave in a rush to meet Damian afterwards."

"So she came alone?"

"Yeah, just her…" He looks down and seems to struggle before saying, "She asked about you…You should call her and see if it's anything important."

"I don't have the time."

"What do you mean you don't have the time? You were talking to Ein just now." Then, Jet finishes as he steps out of the room, "Rather than talking to a dog, give her a call instead."

At the time, I dismiss the idea immediately. But as soon as I enter my room, I become conscious of how quiet it is. I realize that I'm cold. And before I'm aware of what I'm doing, I've already dialed her phone number.

As soon as it rings, I notice that it's nearly midnight. I'm about to end the call, but I hear her respond just as my thumb hovers over the end call button.

"Spike," she repeats.

"Yeah." I forget why I called and I have to force myself to remember. I say, "Jet said you asked for me, did you want something?"

"What—No." She answers, "I…just wanted to know if you'd been able to cash in Pittman's voucher."

"No…Not yet."

"Oh."

"I haven't," I begin quickly, but slow down as I finish, "heard anything from the department yet."

After a short delay, Faye asks, "You haven't?"

"No," I answer. "But I'll let you know when I do." She doesn't say anything else. I sit down on the edge of my bed and decide to continue, "Are you worried I'll take your share?"

"…No."

"You're not?"

"No. I just wanted to ask and check."

"Why? Is your debt still growing?"

"You would enjoy that wouldn't you?" she says bitterly. I hear her sigh and she says happily, "Damian hired some lawyers that were able to get most of it annulled."

I hesitate before speaking, "…That must be nice. But how did he manage to do something like that?"

"Because of the cryogenics," she says. "Apparently, you can claim some sort of plea saying you weren't aware of how things worked when you woke up. I guess it works something like the insanity plea, were you aren't fully aware of what it is you're getting yourself into."

"That reminds me…I called without noticing how late it was. I guess I've given him another reason to dislike me."

Faye laughs, "You wish. After we came back tonight, he was called out and isn't back yet."

"Then should I call even later next time?"

"Next time?"

"Ah, nevermind," I say, realizing how tired I really am. "I was going to make a joke about it but I don't feel like it anymore."

Faye laughs again, mocking me. "Idiot."

"It's your fault," I tell her shortly.

"Why is it my fault!"

"Because after seriously thinking about it, it seems we only call each other this late. Just…remember the times you've called me recently?"

After a few seconds of silence she finally says, "…I guess…we should stop doing that."

"It's you who starts it."

"Don't blame me for everything," she says defensively.

"Then," I begin, "next time you ask for me, say if you actually need something. Otherwise, I feel forced to check."

"You don't have to," she says quietly.

Catching the change in her voice, I realize my mistake. I rub my eyes in annoyance. I'm tired. Otherwise, I wouldn't reveal something like that to her, specially not now that she's dismissed me. "I know, but it's not like I'm doing it out of free will," I begin covering for my mistake. "You're in trouble so much that Jet and Ed will kill me if I don't do anything about it."

Faye laughs nervously, "I'll try to remember, but it sounds much more fun to see what Jet and Ed will do to you."

Hearing her response, I continue jokingly, "Hey, Faye… The truth is that you want me to call you, right?"

"As if," she responds. "Why would I need you to call me?"

"I don't know…" I say lazily, "but I'm pretty sure I there's a reason…"

"Like what?" she says challengingly.

I'm too tired to think. So I say the first thing that's on my mind. "Uhh…You're lonely."

Faye answers quickly and defensively. "I'm not."

Suddenly, even if Faye and I are not in the same room, I can feel the air tense around me. I feel her discomfort and, aware that I shouldn't say so, I tell her lightly, "If I were you, I would be."

Or rather. I am. I am the one who's lonely.

But it seems to work. She sighs and calmly says, "Well, I'm not. Damian will be back soon so there's no need for me to feel lonely."

That's right, for a second I forgot that Damian is the man whose company Faye likes best.

I exhale quietly, trying to rid myself of the depressive thoughts arising in me. I feel defeated and I'm out of things to say so I tell her, "And I guess he should be back soon…Then, since you didn't need anything…"

"…Right…" Faye says slowly.

"I'm hanging up."

"Good Ni—" I hear, cutting Faye off short by ending the call.

I turn my communicator off and throw it on top of the bedside table. I pull off my tie and clumsily take off my shoes. I begin to unbutton my shirt but I don't feel like doing anything, not even changing into my sleeping clothes. I let myself fall sloppily over the bed. I look at the light above my bed thinking I should turn it off. I try to lift myself from the bed but I can't. The more I wait to get up, the more it seems worthless to attempt moving at all. The light can stay on. I don't care anymore.

*** * * Ch. 9 End, Continued on Ch. 10 * * ***

* * *

><p><strong>About this chapter:<strong> This is the last chapter that I had written before I started posting the story on fanfiction. I will be very busy for a few weeks, so I may not be able to write the next chapter very soon.

Please don't forget about this story and be patient until the next update!

_I hope to keep hearing from you!_


	10. To Binge

…_I really…it was impossible to update until now…sorry…_

*** * * Ch. 10 – TO BINGE (Gorillaz) * * ***

* * *

><p>After days of nothing but continued sleep, of nothing but a life full of dreams, I wake up tired, bored, and wondering what it is I'm supposed to do next. I can't seem to find an answer that will put my mind at ease, so I spend my days considering nothing but a way to get myself out of the hole I am in. Except, it doesn't lead anywhere. And all I do is think. Repeating the same cycle over and over and over again.<p>

It's very tiring. So, sometimes I pretend to believe in God and blame everything on his hatred of me. Other times I don't feel religious, so I convince myself that I'm a mistake of evolution's process. Either way, no matter how many ridiculous excuses I come up with, even if it's just to find something that will keep my mind momentarily at ease, everything is unsatisfactory. In the end, I'm still left feeling a need to figure out what it is I'm supposed to be doing.

What I find incredibly amusing, in a twisted sort of way, is that, in the past, I wasn't like this. Before I met Julia, I knew exactly what I had to do in order to make my life worthy. It wasn't ever much, all I needed was to get by. Nothing more and nothing less. It wasn't anything exactly noteworthy, but it wasn't something that felt so incredibly unbearable either. Yet, after my experience with Julia, just doing the same thing isn't enough anymore. For some reason, being with her made me aware of how lonely I get when I'm by myself. And now, I can't stand realizing that I'm alone.

If I think about it this way, maybe it was never that I loved Julia so much I couldn't be without her. And maybe it's not that I feel anything for Faye now. The more I think, the more it feels like I never really loved Julia. Like what I'm feeling for Faye is nothing but missing companionship. And maybe, it's just better for me to think about it this way.

I'm going to be fine, I tell myself, pulling the blankets away from my body, feeling the cold air nip my skin.

I stretch my body as I walk out of my room. I go to the bathroom and wash my face. Then, I stand next to one of the Bebop's windows, watching as we slowly drift in space. After a minute, I step away and begin exercising, making sure that I concentrate on nothing but the accuracy of my movements.

I don't notice when Jet first walks into the room. When I finally meet his gaze, he says, "I'm taking Ed back to Earth. You want to come along?…Or is there something else you need to do here on Mars?"

I continue exercising until I finish the set of bicycle kicks I'm on. After the last one, I sit up. I am well aware of what Jet's intentions are, and I'm tired of evading and pretending, so I tell him, "That night when you said Faye had asked for me, I called her…"

"And?" he asks, obviously trying to hide some of his curiosity.

I think about it for a little before I respond, "She didn't need anything."

"Then…" Jet says awkwardly.

I smirk at his discomfort. Why is he taking this so seriously? Even I, who is the one most concerned with Faye, have never realistically expected anything from her. But I know Jet's just trying to make sure everything is okay. So I say, "Are we staying in Earth for a while?"

Jet looks up from the ground and answers me evenly, "Nah. Ed's staying there for a couple of months at least."

"Ah, that's good to hear…," I say laying down, "it's going to be nice and quiet for a while then…" I hear Jet chucking under his breath as he leaves. Then, I begin a rep of reverse crunches.

We arrive on Earth in the afternoon.

Ed is very excited. Even before we fully dock the ship, she is already standing by the exit, her computer hoisted on her head and a bundle of things strapped to her back. Ein is at her feet, going around her in circles as she turns on her tip-toes.

When Jet releases the exit door, she opens it quickly and runs to the very edge of the ship. She sits her computer down and fidgets in place. I don't have anything better to do, so I chose to join Jet and see her off as well. While walking to catch up to Ed, Ein runs back and forth between the two spaces until we finally reach her.

"Are you ready? Do you have everything you need?" Jet asks her.

"Yep, yep!" Ed answers nodding vigorously. She spreads her arms and Jet allows her to hug him. They do this so naturally it irks me.

"Alright Ed," Jet says patting her head, "Take care and just let me know when you want to come back."

"That's if you even want to come back," I mutter a bit offhandedly.

Jet glares at me. He's about to say something but stops when he realizes that Ed has left him and has tackled my waist. My body locks up, and I stand there frozen. Jet laughs at me instead, and this is probably much more sardonic than anything he could have said.

Ed nuzzles her face on my stomach. "It's okay Spi-Spi. It's okay."

I grab a hold of her shoulders and push her off. "Ed, that's enough."

Yet, she latches herself on me again. "But Spike-person needs a hug. And Faye-Faye's not here for Spi-Spi to hug."

I glance at Jet, the corner of his mouth almost forming a smirk. I look at Ed again and say uncomfortably, "…since when does that happen? Don't say things like that."

She looks up, her chin digging into my abdomen, and says, "Okay! Ed'll zip it now."

I catch the emphasis she places on the word zip. I glance at her and she smiles mischievously... Zip…She couldn't possibly be referring to the zipper incident with Faye…How long ago was that anyway? Did she see then? Or rather, how much does she actually know? Just as I'm about to try and pry it out, someone calls out to her.

"Ed! Over here!"

Ed releases me and squints her eyes in the direction of her name. She shouts, waving her hands frantically over her head. "Tomato!"

"Tomato?" Jet and I ask looking at each other.

And while Ed is distracted, I take a step back, to ensure I'm out of her range. I look up and towards the direction in which Ed is waving. Further ahead I see that there is a boy around Ed's age. He isn't tall, but neither is he average height, it's an awkward in-between. He has shaggy dark brown hair and square glasses. He waves at her a little and starts running towards the dock. But he seems to run out of breath too soon because he stops and slouches over, his hands holding his knees.

"Tomato wait! Ed's coming!" she shouts at him.

She runs back to Jet to give him one final hug. Jet asks, "Tomato?"

Ed smiles widely, she giggles and says, "Tomato is Ed's Earth friend."

"Your friend…huh?"

"Yeap."

Jet chuckles a little, "Be careful, okay?"

Ed nods and salutes, "Aye sir!"

She picks up her computer and lets it rest on her head. She takes a running start and suddenly stops. Ed turns around and yells, "Don't be sad Spi-Spi!"

The cigarette nearly falls from my lips, but by that time, Ed has already dashed off running. Besides me, Jet's unable to contain his laughter. "The hell?" I say aggravated.

He slaps my back, still laughing, and literally knocks the cigarette out of my mouth.

I stare at the ground for a second, watching the rest of my cigarette being slowly wasted. "Damn it! Am I a freaking joke to you?"

Jet doesn't even attempt to deny anything and he casually walks back to the ship.

"Listen to me, old man!" I shout after him. But he doesn't answer. And I realize that extending the situation will not benefit me any.

For a couple of weeks, Jet and I roam around from place to place, chasing down whatever bounty we can in order to keep at least cupped ramen on our table for dinner. After a while, it isn't enough anymore. We begin looking for hunts that will give us enough of an income to at least eat bell peppers and make some repairs to the Bebop.

"Did you see this guy?" Jet says handing me a printout.

"Black Jack," I read the name. "Let me guess, a casino put this up because the guy was winning a bit too much."

"Yeah…that's pretty much it. But you know casinos, they're good when it comes to giving bounty hunters a reasonable pay."

"Are you going after him?" I ask.

"Nah, I just figured you'd be interested on him. I found the file after I had already started my search on another bounty."

"Tsk…you're giving me your leftovers…"

"If you want to think about it that way, it's fine. But I figured you'd enjoy spending some time in the casinos since it's been a while…I'm not that good with cards, so I don't like these type of bounties."

"I guess it'll be fine…But Jet. Are you trying something again?"

"What do you mean?"

"This casino is in the same city as Faye."

"Is it?" He asks. I hand the paper back to Jet so he can read it. He stares silently at it for a second. Then, he returns the sheet and says with remote interest, "Spike, only you would notice that."

I glance at the location again before laying the sheet on the coffee table. I stand up from the couch and say, "I'll look for someone a bit more worth my time."

"If that's what you want," Jet says as I leave the living room.

For a couple of months, who knows how much money I lose by evading hunts that will place me anywhere near Faye. Even when I finally receive the money from Pittman's hunt, Jet is the one to give Faye her share.

But, slowly, the apprehension that had built up in me dissipates. I'm not sure how it happens. One day, I just simply find myself very accepting of everything. Like it had happened before, I get used to Faye not being around. I get used to the fact that I'm wrong in wanting things to be different and that I should just let things be the way they are.

I don't hear from Faye. I don't see Faye. But I can't forget her either.

She's become stuck somewhere in the back of my head. I can't even smoke without thinking that she could be doing the same. When I drink, I can't have bourbon without being reminded that it's Faye's favorite. And it's not surprising that everyday something reminds me of her. Or rather, it's not a surprise that all my addictions remind me of her.

And a year goes by easily.

The bebop is quiet. But I can't say that it feels just like before Faye and Ed had lived here. Somehow, they've become a sort of presence that doesn't disappear anymore. They've permeated into the essence of the Bebop and it's impossible to forget the feeling of having lived with both of them...

Even then, Jet and I are able to go through our daily lives. Today, Jet is working on the boiler of the Bebop. I've got nothing to do, so I'm sitting in the yellow couch watching television.

I pay the most attention to the announcements for newly released bounties. Since I'm not in the mood for much, I'm hoping to get a few easy ones for a while. I see the details on each bounty. For a second, the reward of one catches my interest. But just as I'm about to read the name, the broadcast is suddenly interrupted.

The announcer is a brown haired woman wearing a blue suit. She says, "We interrupt this broadcast to inform you of the latest news regarding Commissioner Knight. New information validates that, apart from our commissioner, there were four other people captured during last night's incident outside of the Wagner Conference Center at 9:30 p.m. Sources confirm that within the group of five there were three men and two women. As of now, it is still unknown who the other four members are. The police continue investigations, but so far, they have been unable to identify the offenders. The representative for the case had this to say about—"

My body automatically reaches for the power button. I press it quickly then I slide back on the seat and close my eyes. I sit there, breathing.

I reach over to my communicator and dial Faye's number. I keep my eyes closed and the communicator pressed to my ear, hearing the monotonous tone of the ringing. The call ends and Faye's voicemail picks over. I sigh and dial again. But nothing changes. The voicemail picks over again and I end the call and press redial.

Jet walks in just then. He watches me briefly before asking, "What are you doing?"

I ignore his question and instead say, "When was the last time you heard from Faye?"

He pauses before saying, "…about three months ago I suppose."

"That can't be good," I say absently.

"Why? What's wrong?" he asks, a hint of worry creeping into his voice.

I press redial one more time and explain to Jet what I have just heard.

He becomes visually troubled. "Then…" he says, "…when was the last time you spoke to her?"

"…I don't remember…" I respond, not meeting his gaze.

"…That long ago, huh?"

"What?" I say facing him. Then, I smirk and jokingly say, "You didn't expect it?"

Jet stares at me for a second before laughing a little nervously. "I guess you're right."

"Anyway," I say, making sure my voice is relaxed, "the problem right now is that she won't pick up…Have you heard from Ed? Did she say anything about Faye?"

"She called yesterday to say she would be staying in Earth for a longer time than she had expected, but she didn't mention Faye at all."

After he finishes speaking, I don't say anything. The only thing I can concentrate on is the repetitive tone of the call. All I hear is the ringing. Ringing. Again. And again. And again. And then the voicemail picks up.

I feel so fucking angry.

How many more times am I going to be forced to hear this annoying message, that's not even her voice, before she decides to pick up. Because she's fine. She just doesn't want to bother with my call. But she's fine. She has to be.

This time, when I hear the beep, I don't hang up. Instead, I bite my lips briefly to keep myself from cursing and I say snidely, "Faye, what do you have a communicator for if you're not going to answer it? If you're going to be so wasteful, pay me back the money from Pittman's hunt."

I hang up and place my communicator on the table. Then, I stretch my body and lay down on the couch.

"I don't think that will work…" Jet says uncertainly. He sits down on the smaller couch on the opposite side of the table. "Why don't I call her instead?"

"Since I've called her so many times already, I don't think she'll answer your call either…Probably…she'll think I stole your communicator or something like that." I look over to him and say, "She'll pick up…eventually."

"Eventually…" Jet says, letting the word drag on. "Why are you so confident about that? Aren't you worried?"

I have to sigh before answering, "You're being so negative."

"Rather…" Jet responds, "…it's you who's being too optimistic."

"What?" I say calmly, "Do you want me to rush out without knowing anything?"

Jet doesn't say anything for a while. Then, he speaks carefully, saying, "I guess I really did read too much into it…Because…if it had been in this situation…even if it had just been Julia's name…you wouldn't be laying there so casually."

I clench my jaw shut.

"Am I wrong?" he asks.

I swallow.

"That—" I try to answer hastily. But I don't know what else to say afterwards. I'm unsure why. But I just want to prove him wrong. For a second, I want to tell him of how much I really think about Faye. Of how worried I really am. Of how it's taking all of my energy not to rush out. That I'm acting this way because I don't want to be stupid and do something unnecessary.

But I can't even do that much. Even considering actually saying it. Such ridiculous things so directly. If it had been anyone else. But because it's Faye. It makes me feel uncomfortable. Simply the thought of it. And without thinking, I throw my arm over my face.

Jet chuckles. And I hate it.

He says, "I didn't mean it to be such a serious question that you couldn't even answer."

I keep my eyes covered with my arm. I lick my lips and finally say, "…You know. Learn from your mistakes or some bullshit like that."

Jet laughs. "You're right," he answers without a single trait of cynicism. Then, he says, "I've got to finish the repairs…If she calls back, or if she doesn't, let me know."

I hear the sound of his footsteps fading away. And I lay there. Unsure of what has just happened.

With my eyes covered, I can really hear how fast my blood is pumping in my ears. I already know. But it makes me aware of how nervous I really am. It reminds me that no matter how much I try to pretend to be or to feel a certain way, I'm always unable to control myself. And the only thing I'm left with is the time I've wasted trying to alter the way things have shifted against me. The time I've wasted trying to rid myself of the stupid feelings that I can't control. Of the truth that I don't want to admit.

The truth? What the hell is that anyway…I don't even…

I sit up. And focus on my communicator sitting on the table. I stare at it intently, as if somehow that would force Faye to respond. I don't move. I simply wait. And then, just as I'm about to call her again, my communicator vibrates.

I instinctively pick it up from the table. The screen reads 'one new message.' I open it without bothering to even check whom it's from. But the words alone make me pleased. I look up to the sender's name and I smile; sure enough, the message is from Faye.

I turn to the hallway that leads to Jet. He's not in sight and I'm glad he can't see me now. I look back to the message and finally decide to turn off the screen. Even by doing so, I can't rid myself of the smile on my face. I cover my mouth with the palm of my hand. Seriously, how stupid am I for getting this excited about a damn message?

I bite my lips together and eventually I can relax my face. But that lingering feeling of contentment in my chest is still there. I can't believe I had completely forgotten. I couldn't remember what it felt like to receive a message from Faye anymore. I can't stop myself. I open the message and read it again: 'You're an idiot.' I smirk. It was so typical of Faye. So much like her that I could even hear her saying it. And somehow, I missed that a lot.

I rest my head on the back of the couch. It's a relief to finally get some response from her. But just a message isn't enough. I want to hear more from her. To at least hear her voice. Because the only thing that her message did is make me expectant. It makes me believe that she is willing to say more. That, even after all this time, she'll still speak to me.

I'm so dissatisfied it hurts.

So I dial her phone number and listen intently. It rings. And rings. And the voicemail picks over…Somehow, I had expected this much, so I simply wait for the tone. This time, I say, "You never change. Is that seriously the only thing you can think of saying? Anyway, I'm serious about Pittman's money, we are having bad luck and I'm tired of cupped ramen."

I end the call and stare at the screen of my communicator. This time, I don't have time to think about anything since the response arrives within seconds.

The message reads, "Starve for all I care."

Faye. I laugh a little and dial back. After the voicemail plays, I say, "What an inhumane woman you are. Poor Ed, she misses you so much and here you are wishing that she'll die of hunger. If she really knew how horrible you are, she'd be disappointed."

I hang up and nearly immediately I get the response: "YOU can starve for all I care."

This time, I take a second to think before calling her again. "What?" I begin the voicemail message, "You think that some of the money I earn doesn't have anything to do with what we use around the ship? You sure forget about how things work quickly."

This time, it takes her a long time to respond. I begin to worry that I messed up and that I won't hear anything from her again. But just as I'm about to give up, a message arrives. It reads, "I didn't forget."

I don't even bother to think and call her quickly. After the tone I say, "Admit it Faye. You're just not interested in the Bebop anymore. But that's completely understandable. You know, better things in life I suppose. But…you don't even— " I catch myself mid sentence and hang up quickly. I bite my lips. What the hell was I going to tell her?…you don't even…consider how much you trouble me…is that seriously what I wanted to say?

She responds soon, "Idiot. You can't even leave a message properly."

I smirk. Whatever my mistake, I'm at least glad that it provoked her enough to respond this way. I call her again and wait for the tone. I take a deep breath and calm down before saying, "That wouldn't even be an issue if you just bothered to pick up. You're being really childish by not answering my call. It's not like it's going to hurt your pride any to answer. Actually, it's me that's starting to feel ashamed of how many times I've dialed your number."

She answers quickly again, "Then stop calling."

I dial and after the tone I say, "Do you really think I would bother to keep calling you like this if there wasn't a reason? So…just answer."

I wait and I wait. And I receive nothing from her. For ten minutes, I sit there, tearing my mind into pieces and staring at my communicator. But nothing happens. And I can't stand it any longer so I decide to call her again.

The ringing makes me impatient. I have to stand up and walk around the living room to keep myself from chunking my communicator across the floor. The ringing stops. I clench my jaw trying to control myself and think of a reasonable message to leave. But the voicemail never takes over.

"…Faye?"

Still nothing.

I hesitate. But I'm sure she's there. "…Faye," I repeat.

It's quiet for a second. Then I hear her stuttering a little. She pauses awkwardly and then asks, "What did you want?"

Her voice.

The tension in my body immediately disappears, rushing from my fingertips into my core before turning into nothing. I laugh quietly for a second. But I catch myself and I clear my throat hastily. I manage to keep myself from laughing anymore, but I can't rid myself of the smirk plastered on my face.

Since I don't answer, Faye becomes irritated. She says annoyed, "Spike—"

I interrupt her before she has the chance to scold me. "Where are you at?"

"…"

Now that I've managed to have her answer, I know it won't be easy to get her to tell me anything. So before speaking, I force myself to stop smiling and I make my voice neutral. "I asked you something," I say slowly.

"…it doesn't matter," she answers quietly.

"Then…" I begin, "if it doesn't matter…tell me."

I hear Faye sigh. A second after she says aloofly, "I don't feel like it."

Even after several minutes of discussion, I can't get her to answer. She really is testing my patience. I walk back to the couch and take a seat. "Faye," I say. But I don't know what else I should tell her anymore. Right now, I feel so insecure talking to her. As if anything I say could be a mistake. I lick my lips and state, "Where are you at."

It's neither a question nor an order. It's simply the reality of how much I want to know. I hate the way my voice sounds. But if she will answer this way, I don't care about it at all.

"Spike…" she says.

"Where are you, Faye."

The words leave her effortlessly, without a moment of doubt or hesitation, "Silver Lake Park."

I smile a little and it becomes easier to breathe. I say, "Wait there."

"What!" She says fretfully, "Are you coming here now?"

"Sure," I answer, as if traveling there were as easy as walking to the kitchen.

"I…" she begins uncertainly, "I'm not going to sit here and wait for you."

"Why not?" I ask mischievously, "You've done it before."

"Just—" she says very offended. But then she suddenly stops. I hear her exhale heavily. "…Do whatever you want," she answers distantly, ending the call promptly afterwards.

I place the communicator inside of my coat. I take a few breaths and lean back on the couch. Faye is fine. She's fine…I close my eyes and take a deep breath again, realizing how tired out I am. In that short period of time, I can't believe how exhausted I've become. I close my eyes and relax for a minute before standing up from the couch.

I walk to the boiler room and call out to Jet. I lean on the doorframe as I wait for a response from him. Once I hear him acknowledge me, I say, "She finally picked up."

From behind the boiler, I hear Jet sighing in relief. He says, "Then, everything's okay?" I hear him standing up and then I see him walking towards me.

"It sounds like it," I say.

He cleans his hands with a rag, quietly saying, "That's good."

I glance down, "But I have the feeling she might try to do something stupid."

"Then…"

I force myself to face Jet, casually stating, "I'm going to go see her."

He stays silent for a while. "Good luck," he says.

"With what specifically?" I ask amused.

Jet laughs, "I'm not too sure myself, but I'm certain that you're bound to need it."

It becomes like a curse. All through the trip I have issues trying to make it to Mars quickly. When I finally arrive, I can't find a place to park my Swordfish. As I walk to the park, some idiot tries to mug me with a knife. He pulls me into an alley and shoves me against the wall asking for money. But I can't stand it anymore. I release every single ounce of my irritation on him, leaving him unconscious and probably with a broken jaw in the alley floor.

When I finally arrive at Silver Lake, I call Faye. But to my luck, the line is busy. Thankfully, having vented on my mugger earlier keeps me from going insane with impatience. So instead of complicating the situation, I decide to take a walk around the park. It's a nice afternoon after all, and it seems like a waste to spend my time angry at something I can't control.

Eventually, I find myself sitting on the same bench where I had met Faye, what seems like, ages before. Nothing about this area seems to have changed. The public telephone is still relatively usable. The bench is not missing any parts. Even the people seem like the same ones I had seen such a long time ago.

I spend the time just looking at my surroundings. And before I know it, it has already become nighttime. I decide to call Faye again. But, just as I'm about to dial her number, I hear her saying my name.

I look up quickly. And there, I see her, standing so close that I could easily touch her.

"I can't believe you actually came," Faye says.

It takes me a second to grasp her appearance. This time, her hair is long enough that, even braided, it reaches under her shoulder blades. I glance at her face again to make sure I at least recognize her eyes.

I say, "I can't believe how much you change. Next time, I might not recognize you at all."

"Well, how long do you think it's been?" Faye responds snidely. Then, she sighs and takes a seat next to me. Not on the other side of the bench. But close enough that I can feel her shoulder touch my arm when she moves. "But you know," she says, "…you seem to be the type of person that never changes much."

"Is that a good thing?"

"…I'm not sure."

And then we sit in silence. Watching people walk by. Awkwardly glancing at each other.

Finally, Faye asks, "Spike…why are you here?"

I glance at her before setting my sight on the trees across the walkway. I don't want to answer, so instead I reply, "I can't?"

She chuckles lightly. "You can do whatever you want."

"Then that's your answer…" I say uninterestedly while I light a cigarette.

Faye stares back at me. She elbows my arm and asks offended, "You're not even going to ask if I want one?"

I turn the cigarette box downwards and shake it a little before crushing it. "This is the last one."

She sighs and leans back on the bench. "Just my luck…"It's been like this all day."

It makes me suspicious.

All this time, somewhere in the back of my head, I keep asking myself: how worried is Faye? Did she sleep last night? How badly does she want to see Damian? How much effort is she putting into finding him? Because. Knowing Faye, there's no possible way that she has stayed cross-armed through all of this. I wonder how much she's actually done and how involved she has become.

But, right now, I'm not sure how to bring up the subject, so I can only ask, "Have you been very busy?"

Faye doesn't even bother to pretend and answer. She waits a second before saying, "How's Ed? She's not really starving is she?"

By evading the question, she reaffirms everything I had expected. But. Why didn't she tell me?…It's not like I have any right to stop her from doing whatever she wants… So, why now, of all times, is she choosing to not tell me anything?

It irritates me. Probably much more than it should.

"…I don't really know," I say distantly.

"What?" She asks quickly.

"I haven't seen her in a long while. She's been living in Earth most of the time now. It must be nearly two months ago that I last saw her—"

"Wait," Faye cuts me off. "Then, you—"

I interrupt her. I meet her eyes and say sternly, "I lied to you."

Faye hesitates. And then, she punches my arm as hard as our distance will allow it.

I clench my jaw shut, choosing to keep quiet and not say something unnecessary. But after the impact, the sting doesn't disappear. It's like my arm itches. So I decide to massage the spot in hopes that the sensation will fade. And in hopes that doing so will give me enough time to think of what to say or do next.

Besides me, Faye watches me uneasily. My reaction must have confused her because she keeps glancing at my arm. She falters, fidgeting with her hands. Then, she frivolously slaps my hand away from my arm. She places her palm on the area she'd punched earlier and rubs the spot in circles.

It's so strange.

The pressure from her palms seems so surreal. I glance at her hands. Then I glance at her face. And then I watch her holding my arm. "…What are you doing?" I ask thoughtlessly.

"Ah!" she jolts away. "It's because—I've just." She pauses and grunts. "I don't know! I'm so damn tired I don't know what I'm doing anymore! But I was really worried about Ed!"

"And Damian?"

"…what?"

I look away from my arm to casually meet her gaze, "Shouldn't you be more worried about him right now?"

She glances away a couple of times. She bites her lips together and asks, "…how do you know?"

"I saw it in the news…" I tell her, " He's got a good title. So it's unlikely that if he gets abducted it will go unnoticed by the media."

She says quickly, "It's not like you think…"

But she never explains herself. So, after a while I ask, "So you're not looking for him?"

Her eyebrows knit together. "Yes, but…"

And again, she doesn't finish her sentence. I watch her a couple of times, noticing that she's becoming visually stressed. I take a drag of my cigarette and exhale. Faye watches the smoke fading away with the same complex expression still on her face.

I can't stand seeing her so uncertain. I hand her my cigarette and say, "I don't know why you're getting so nervous. It's not like I'm going to chastise you over anything."

She meets my gaze once before glancing at the cigarette in my hand. Slowly, Faye reaches out and takes it. She doesn't say anything. She just takes a couple of drags. I try not to stare at her too much, but I notice when her shoulders start to relax.

She looks up again. "The thing is…"

I look at her. She doesn't say anything for a while so I ask, "The thing is?"

"…Yeah," Faye says giving up, "…I'm trying to find him…"

This is all I really want from Faye. Because, it really isn't all that hard to speak to me…is it?

I smirk a little. "Alright," I tell her, "Then, I'll give you a hand."

Faye falters, "What—there's no need—"

"Relax, would you," I say taking the cigarette from her hand.

As I take a drag, Faye says, "But you already knows he hates you."

"That's why," I answer easily. Faye stares at me oddly. I glance away from her and continue, "I mean, it's not like you can't tell it's the same for me. And since that's the case…Can you imagine what it'd be like if I helped him out of this? Every morning for the rest of his life, he'll wake up and the first think he'll think of is that he's alive thanks to my help. The person he hates so much saved his life…It'll be great."

I take another drag afterwards and I don't bother to tell her that that's only a fraction of my intent. That the main reason has nothing to do with Damian—that I'm doing it because she makes me fretful.

Faye grimaces. "That's—," she says making a face and taking the cigarette back soon after.

"…That's the way it is," I say distantly, "I'm still bitter about something he said a while back. And you know me. I tend to cling on to things for a long time way too easily. So, I guess, you could say this is my way of getting back at him and letting it end."

Faye takes the final drag of the cigarette. She puts the smoke out and a grin spreads on her lips, "…Why that?" She laughs, "This is…so…stupid."

Her reaction makes me smirk. "Call it what you want, but I don't think that there's anything worse than being indebted to a person you hate."

She looks at the butt of the cigarette and presses her lips shut to stop herself from smiling. She takes a deep breath then says evenly, "I don't want your help."

"You can't be so picky," I say confidently. "Sure you don't want my help. But, I'm sure you're bound to need it sooner or later…Anyway. It's not like I'm doing it hoping to get something from you in return. Like I said, selfish reasons."

"You're horrible," she answers smirking.

"Of course I am," I respond before standing up. "But at least this horrible person was willing to share his last cigarette with you."

"Tsk. If I knew you were going to be like this, I wouldn't have taken it." She stretches her arms over her head and then she stands up, lightly landing on the concrete sidewalk.

"You didn't expect it?" I ask mockingly. "…Anyway, is there a place nearby where I can buy more?"

"Yeah." She says pointing north, "there's one about five minutes walk from here…"

I get caught. And I simply look at her.

But she says curtly, "What, you expect me to walk you there?" She doesn't look away from my sight. Then, just barely, I'm sure that the tone of her skin becomes flush.

And then I realize that I've become a boulder. Not blinking. Not breathing. Simply existing there to take up space.

I blink and lead my sight away from Faye, focusing on the walkway instead. I take a few steps ahead, walking in the direction she'd given me. Thinking how ridiculously stupid it is of me to just freeze because she's there.

I exhale.

"Did you get shorter?" I ask purposely sounding aloof.

Faye takes a second to respond. "…That's really what you were thinking?" she says incredulously. I don't answer and I continue walking. After a while, Faye catches up to me and responds bitterly, "How can I become shorter? Idiot…I've always been this height."

But right now, I really want to give myself some space. I want to keep Faye from realizing that, since the last time we spoke to each other, nothing has changed. That I'm still unconvinced with her inept rejection. So I keep walking ahead of her with large strides, my hands in my pockets, hoping to give myself enough time to put myself back in order.

Except Faye catches up with me quickly. She pulls my arm back and stands next to me, latching our arms together so that I won't be able to walk ahead. Then, she touches her shoulder to my arm. "See," she says holding tightly, "this is how it's always been."

I give a couple of steps with Faye on my arm before facing her. First, I stare at her hands pulling me close and grasping my arm. I take a few more steps before even bothering to look at the height of our shoulders. I glance quickly at her. The instant our eyes meet, Faye becomes aware of our stance. Immediately, she releases me, somewhat shoving me away from herself.

It becomes awkward.

I can't stand the silence and I end up feigning ignorance, "You think that's how it was?"

As if I could forget. Though many things have changed between us, the one thing I've been unable to disregard is the feeling of Faye besides me. And I hate how aware I am that nothing good will come out of trying to force something. I hate that I end up having to act as if I'm not aware of anything. But at least it's enough to keep her from realizing my lies are an unskilled attempt to cover up how much I want to keep seeing her. And how much I want to talk to her. And how much I really want to touch her. But it's this kind of denial that allows me to at least have this much of her time and company.

After buying the cigarettes, we gain normalcy again and, for the rest of the night, we walk around town trying to follow-up some of the leads Faye had found earlier. It doesn't turn out to be much. And in the end, we end up sitting in a shabby truck stop on the edge of town trying to stay awake by drinking cheap coffee.

"Faye," I begin sluggishly, "it's nearly one. I think it's about time we quit for today…or go somewhere else at least. This place closes in half an hour anyway and there's really nothing else we can do at this point."

But she doesn't listen. She continues to glance at a sheet of paper, intently jotting down notes besides the names of the people we've managed to talk to. She finally sighs and leans back on her chair.

She says, "There must be an easier way to go about this."

"Some things take time," I answer distantly.

"I don't care." Faye answers hastily. "I just want to find Damian and get this over with."

I have to think about what to say before speaking. I clear my throat quietly and begin, "He'll be fine." Then, I add afterwards, "From what we heard, it looks like the people are after money. And if that's the case, I highly doubt they'd dare to damage even a single hair from his head."

She says quickly, "That doesn't matter."

I wait a second before casually asking, "Why the rush then?"

Faye starts folding the sheet of paper. She takes her time before saying, "I just won't feel satisfied otherwise." She rises from her chair as she finishes her sentence. "But. You're right. There's really nothing much that we can do for today."

Faye walks much too far ahead and I end up stuck with the bill. I'm too tired to argue with her about it, so I rush to pay both for our coffee and our waitress' tip before following after her.

Though it's late, Mars has always been famous for its nightlife. Being a Friday, it's reasonable that the streets are still covered in people. It's hard finding Faye in this atmosphere. Since I'm still not used to her current image, it takes me a little longer than usual to spot her back in the crowd. When I finally see her, I move closer to her, aloofly complaining, "Hey, Faye! Why the hell am I the one that's having to pay for every—"

"Well," I hear a slightly nasal voice, "Who's this?"

I stop a couple of feet behind Faye. She turns around and stares at me with a don't-do-anything kind of look. I'm a little confused by the situation, so I simply shrug my shoulders and follow her orders. But suddenly, a pair of perfectly manicured hands with hot pink fingernails dig into Faye's stomach. Faye jolts, in the motion revealing the person whom she had been hiding: a petite woman with a large chest and slick blond hair falling to her shoulders. Not the classy sort of woman, but closer to something you might expect to find at a strip club.

"So here's the reason I couldn't get a hold of you today, huh?" She asks, playfully elbowing Faye.

I bite my lips together to keep from laughing. Clearly, Faye is very uncomfortable with the entire situation. And her face. Her expression is just priceless.

Faye stutters for a second, then hastily tries to answer, "I didn't—"

But the woman cuts her short. She gives a step forward, standing between Faye and myself, and leans in closer to me. She extends her right hand and says in what I'm assuming is meant to be friendly and not seductive manner, "I'm Jess—"

Just then, Faye turns and wraps her arms under the woman's bust, lifting her from the ground and placing her where she had first stood.

The woman laughs so heartily, trying hard to remember and breathe. "Faye, you always do the funniest things," she says. She places her hands over her chest, patting the area between her collarbones as she catches her breath. "Anyway," she says peering around Faye's body, "I'm not Jess but Jessica. But I guess Jess is fine, my friends call me that sometimes. And you?"

"It's doesn't matter," Faye intercepts quickly.

I'm not even given any time to attempt and respond. And from that, I can immediately tell what my position is in this conversation. I catch Faye glancing back at me and I put my hands in my pockets, deciding to wait for it to be over without my involvement.

Jessica giggles, "Wow. You're both being so mysterious!"

"…not necessarily…" Faye says.

"Is he your honey?" Jessica asks quickly.

I snort.

Faye glares at me, responding, "He's not."

"Ah!" Jessica exclaims pointing one of her obnoxious-colored fingernails at me. "Is he your ex?" she asks. "Ah. Wait. You said he was a glasses-man." Then, she turns to me. "Are you wearing contacts? Did you lose one? I mean, because your eyes don't match."

I glance at Faye, but she doesn't respond. She is petrified on the spot, wearing the worst combination of embarrassment and anger in her eyes.

I find it hard to speak, unsure of what it is I'm supposed to be feeling like anymore, but I force myself to answer in Faye's place. "No, I'm not her ex either," I manage to say evenly.

Afterwards, I stare at Faye until she notices and becomes uncomfortable enough to meet my gaze. But she can't keep contact and she looks away multiple times.

But I want to know. I really. I really want to know.

"Oh, no! I'm sorry!" Jessica sincerely exclaims after realizing the awkwardness. "I said something stupid, didn't I? I'm sorry. I didn't. I just didn't want to make the same mistake twice. And so I wanted to know if he was your lover so I wouldn't fuck him. Because I didn't want things to happen like they did with Will."

Will?

I glance at Faye but her sight is locked on to Jessica for what seems like eternity. "…It's fine," Faye finally answers. She takes a while before she says anything more. And through that time, I can see her emotions settling. She says, "Anyway, I told you not to worry about Will anymore. I wasn't really interested in him to begin." She grins, "Really, I was only playing around with him."

Who is Will?

Jessica throws her arms around Faye. Just then. Jessica is someone very familiar. I only have to think about it once. I realize that, thought nearly opposites in behavior and appearance, Jessica is a lot like Ed. Somewhere in their very core. Their essence is alike. I wonder, is this why Faye behaves like this towards her?

"Are you serious?" Jessica continues, "I'm really glad. I've been worried about that this entire week."

"It's fine," Faye says assuredly.

Jessica pulls Faye's hand forward. "Then let's celebrate! At times like this, the best is to binge on the universe's best ramen!" She gives a step forward before realizing that I don't follow after them. She turns around and tugs the sleeve of my coat. "You're coming too! I'm buying so don't worry about money. You look kind of skinny, but I bet you can eat a lot of ramen too." She stops and turns to Faye, whispering, "Who is he again?"

Faye smirks. "Ask him yourself."

Jessica's eyes grow twice in size and she quickly releases my coat, giving two steps ahead in the process. "Oh my god. You're not total strangers are you? Did I get something wrong? Ah! I'm so embarrassed!"

I look at Faye and watch her struggle to contain herself from laughing. She glances at me and I can see she's enjoying herself too much to bother and clarify anything.

"I'm sorry," Jessica tells me politely, "can I ask who you are?"

"Spike Spiegel," I say shortly.

"That's right. Spike Spiegel." She seems to ponder about it for a few seconds before it occurs to her. "Right." She says, "…and?"

"And?" I repeat.

Faye laughs. She walks closer and rests her arm on my shoulder. Briefly. "I know him."

"Really? That's a relief," Jessica says happily.

"Ah," Faye says walking ahead, "but you should have seen your face just now."

"Faye you're so mean! Like I thought, you really are a very sadistic woman."

"But don't you know," Faye responds easily, "a great person once said that everyone's a little of both."

"I don't believe that. Because if I had to choose between the two, then I'm definitely a masochist!"

"It's fine if you think that, but I'm not sure how good of an idea it is to shout it so loudly."

Jessica covers her mouth quickly and she giggles before changing the subject. They continue walking ahead of me, talking about a lot of things I don't understand.

I feel excluded. Completely. But I follow behind them. Because I'm hungry. And because ramen doesn't sound too bad right now. Not because my shoulder seems to have gained a magnetism dragging me along with Faye's movement. That's definitely not why. Definitely.

*** * * Ch. 10 End, Continued on Ch. 11 * * ***

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><p><strong>About…things: <strong>I felt very hesitant about posting this chapter because it technically is the first of two parts. But at 19 pages (typed up in word) it began exceeding the limits of anything I find comfortable to deal with for proofing and…well…just reading. Thus, I decided to end it here and the rest will continue on the next chapter.

Again, I'm really sorry, but I can't guarantee you a quick update. However, I must emphasize that _**I DO NOT DROP STORIES.**_ So, even if it takes a while for me to get back on track sometimes, please keep this story in mind and be patient until the next update!

_Also, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I'm sorry I couldn't respond individually to you all like I try to do. I hope to continue hearing from everyone in the future._

_(Who's the great person who said everyone's a little masochist and sadist? Dali. Salvador Dali. I wish I could give you the exact quote, but it's something I saw about three years ago while writing a report on one of his works. The quote was interesting, but not relevant to the report, so I forgot the exact wording of it...)_


	11. Older

_I'm back._

*** * * Ch. 11 – Older (Band of Horses) * * ***

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><p>It turns out the universe's best ramen is served at a street stall by an old woman Jessica calls Auntie. The place is small, not even large enough to accommodate the number of people waiting to eat. We find ourselves as part of that group, waiting on a small line for a table to clear up and watching people scald their tongues with every new bowl of hot ramen.<p>

It's been a while since I've started to alternate between tuning in and out of whatever Faye and Jessica talk about. I realize very quickly that, even if I listen from the very beginning, I simply don't understand anything they say. And it's not some sort of self-defense mechanism to try and ignore that I'm so out of place walking next to them. It's just that I seriously don't understand what they mean by that time with that one person in that one place that day after that other thing happened.

"Right Spike?"

I look up from the sidewalk to face Faye. I stare at her for a second, digging through my brain to check if I really didn't catch anything she just said. It fails. And all I'm left to do is ask, "Right what?"

Jessica giggles.

Faye sighs and rolls her eyes away from me. "See, this is what I mean," she says to Jessica. "But, this proves my point either way."

"What point?" I ask.

"You don't get to know anymore," Faye answers snidely. Childishly.

It makes me extremely curious. I glance at Jessica who's trying to giggle discreetly. I smile a little to get on her good side and I ask her, "What was it?"

Jessica smiles back. She bites her lips first. "She sa—"

"Don't tell him," Faye puts in quickly.

"Tsk," I respond stretching my arms behind my head. "It's not like it's going to kill me not to know."

But it just might. Tonight, I've been surrounded by so much ambiguity I don't even know what to do. What to say. What to think…It's so frustrating. I nearly feel like ripping my skull open to throw out everything I've heard and clear up my mind again.

"Fine, I won't tell him." Jessica pouts, "But you have to tell me something in return. Like a story about bounty hunting! You never tell me about them."

This catches my interest. If it's about bounty hunting, does that mean I'm actually of some relevance? Somehow, this makes me very comfortable.

"…Well, I don't know which to, " Faye responds slowly. I catch her glancing at me and I smirk when our sight meets. "Ah!" she says suddenly, "I remember a good one."

"Really? Tell me! Tell me!" Jessica says hugging Faye's arm.

"Let's see…At this time, I was already having problems with my ex so I went back to the Bebop—that's the ship Jet owns—So I went back to the Bebop because I wanted…"

I know what she's going to talk about. And more importantly, right now, I know exactly what she wants to say. Watching her hesitate, I bite my lips waiting for her to finish her sentence. When I realize that Faye is at a loss for words, I add briefly, "…time to think."

"Ah…yes," Faye answers glancing at me. She's not angry. She's not happy. It's like this is exactly what she had expected me to do. And I'm not sure if I should be glad. But once Faye's gathered her thoughts, she turns back to Jessica and continues, "Well, it'd been a long while since I'd done any bounty hunting and at first I wasn't even going to be part of it. But I really wanted to do it, so I tried to convince Jet and this guy to let me do it. Jet said it was fine as long as Spike didn't mind. But Spike was being an ass and very vague about whether I could or couldn't join him."

Insulting me already. How funny. Is this her way of trying to get me involved in their conversation? Faye let's her last sentence drag in silence. I put my hands in my pockets. She glances at me. Well, there's really nothing to lose or gain from it. "Saying you can do whatever you want," I begin, "that shouldn't make me an ass."

"Even so, girls need reassurance!" Jessica says confidently, "If you knew she wanted to go, you should have just said it was okay. 'Yes, Faye! I'll be delighted!'"

"What the hell is that?" I respond laughing a bit sardonically. "Really. If anyone needed reassurance it was me. The last hunt we did before she moved in with Da—"

"—ex," Faye clarifies, her sight somewhere across the sidewalk.

I sigh. Is she really going to this extent just to avoid Damian's name. "Whatever. The last hunt we did before she moved in with her…ex-boyfriend, the hunt ended up in total failure and I ended up shot."

Faye grunts. She faces me sternly, "Are you going to bring that up? Even if you're not blaming me for it…Just bringing it up…"

I had somewhat expected for her to react this way. But it's not like I'm even attempting to push the blame on her. My only intent is to make Jessica realize how bad it actually was. "But you said so yourself, I'm not blaming you for it," I tell Faye.

Faye obviously thinks the solution lies elsewhere. She says, "Lets just stop bringing it up at all!" She moves a little closer, "I swear you—"

I don't move back, standing so close to her that she needs to crane her neck back to keep our sight. "Faye," I say as clearly and honestly as possible, "It just happened. It's stupid to make it something so important it can't be brought up."

She heaves and glances down before looking at me and responding calmly, "…I guess."

"See, why worry about it anymore."

For the first time in a while, she doesn't break our sight after she's finished speaking. And I look at her just as directly. I notice her make-up is faded; a little smudge of her eyeliner spreading away from her left eye. Her lips are dry. The Faye of years past would have never allowed me to see her like this. So tired and frustrated…Is this a good thing or a bad thing? I'm not sure. While it feels like I'm getting to see a sight of a Faye I may not have experienced otherwise…I hate that…it's all because of Damian.

"Wow…" Jessica whispers. Faye and I turn to find her wide-eyed with amusement. I glance quickly at Faye, wondering how long it's been since we had started ignoring her. However, Jessica doesn't seem to mind, she easily continues, "I…just witnessed something amazing didn't I?"

Faye gives a step back, mumbling, "There's nothing amazing about it."

"And it's weird!," Jessica exclaims, "If I hadn't been paying attention to what you were saying, I'd swear you were just arguing about last night's boring drama episode. But definitely not something so serious! If you can fight and make up like that—and in public too—it absolutely is amazing! "

"That's—" I say before Jessica interrupts me.

"Look a small table opened up, I'll go first!" Then, she runs ahead.

She leaves Faye and me in an awkward position. I glance at Faye, unsure if there's something that'll break this suddenly odd atmosphere. I clench my jaw. After a second, I merely note, "She's…lively."

Faye is distant and it takes her a second to respond, "…Right?" Then she faintly smiles, "She reminds me a little of Ed."

"Ah, so you were aware."

"Of course I was."

We walk to the red aluminum table and take a seat on white plastic chairs. Initially, there are only two seats, but Jessica takes one from a drunken man sitting next to us. The space is cramped…I'm sitting next to Faye…so…I don't mind.

We order and while we wait for our food, we continue talking about Pittman's hunt. Jessica seems to be seriously entertained. And Faye and I never seem to reach an ending point to the story, getting sidetracked by useless details that wouldn't make a difference to remember even if the hunt had happened today.

Then, we finally receive our order: three large bowls of steaming hot ramen. Faye complains about it being too warm outside to be eating something so hot. She doesn't eat right away, but moves the food around as if hoping it will cool down faster. I take off my coat and begin eating without complaint. However, as I bring the noodles close to my mouth, I feel the steam on my face and I can tell I'll get burned if I take a bite. I sigh and let the noodles fall back on the bowl. Seeing us pause, Jessica, who seems to know you're not supposed to touch the noodles even though they're at your table, urges us to carry on with the story.

So, Faye and I continue to tell her about Pittman's hunt. We tell her about how we finally captured her and how Faye duct-taped Pittman's hands together. Faye doesn't forget to mention Pittman's advances on me or how she had shoved her gun down's Pittman's throat to get her to reveal Anna's location. And how we buckled her in the back of our vehicle. We talk about it for another good thirty minutes, even so far as telling Jessica about the necklace Pittman wore. But after that, Faye and I find ourselves in the awkward position of wanting to tell something without explicitly saying anything at all.

Faye is the first to attempt it, "So then we just waited for Jet to come find us since we were pretty much out of gas."

Jessica is disappointed. "That can't possibly be it! What did you guys do while you waited for so long? Wasn't it boring?" She asks directing the last part to me.

"Uh…what did…" I know very clearly what we did. But, even if I got to kiss and touch Faye, it really was nothing. That was also just because of Damian. After a second of thought, I say a bit uncertainly, "…slept…We slept while we waited."

"But with Pittman in the back," Jessica says slurping a large noodle, "what if she escaped!"

"You take turns," Faye says quickly. "I slept first for a while. Then Spike…slept…" She looks down and moves her food around the bowl. "That was really all…"

I peer at Faye, but she doesn't notice. For the first time in our storytelling we seem to agree on something. I don't want to tell Jessica what really happened while we waited either. Not because I'm embarrassed or because I don't want to remember. I just don't feel like it's all that relevant to anything but Damian and I've had enough of dealing with his presence. In fact, I may very well be reaching my tolerance quota for the day.

I look at Jessica and smirk, "You underestimate how much waiting bounty hunters do. It happens all the time. You wait for a decent bounty. Then you have to wait while you figure out where to find him. Then you have to wait for him to show up. Then you have to wait to catch him at the right time. And it's just as bad afterwards since you have to wait in line to finally get your reward. If it all plays out, you'll get your money. But if not, you have to wait for everything to be double checked."

Jessica bites her hard-boiled egg and pauses. "Then I definitely couldn't do it! I don't have the patience for that!" She faces Faye, "How do you deal with so much waiting! You should just drop bounty hunting now and work full-time at Marty's. They really like you there!"

Faye laughs a little nervously, "Maybe."

This time, I don't even bother to look at Faye. I simply continue eating my noodles. After all, I'm really tired of this. And, even if I ask or begin to wonder, it's not like I'll get a response. I don't know if I was expecting something to play out differently or not. But it doesn't matter. Right now, I need to convince myself that it'll be impossible for me to know everything that has happened in a year.

When that part of the conversation seems to die, Faye and Jessica return to talking about things only the two of them understand. And I sit there, vaguely listening and eating. I finish before the two of them and I glance around while trying to decide what do next.

Something captures my attention. On the door of a shop a couple of meters ahead, hasn't that guy been standing there for quite a while now? I wonder what he's waiting for…Actually, haven't I stayed here for just as long? I check my communicator for the time…an hour has already passed. I shove my communicator back into my coat's pocket and try to concentrate on what Faye and Jessica say. I sit there for a little longer and I guess, it really is long enough.

I say languidly, "I'm tired so I think I'll turn in for the night…About Da—about your ex, I'll call you tomorrow afternoon and we'll see how it goes."

"…okay…" Faye says very slowly.

When I stand up, I notice that the man is no longer standing next to the shop's door. I look around briefly but I don't see him anywhere near. Somehow, it really bothers me.

"Is something wrong?" Faye asks.

"No…nothing."

I say goodbye to the two of them and walk away. The temperature doesn't change much even after leaving the crowded ramen shop. It really is hot tonight. And why is it that after saying it, now I'm so damned tired? I unbutton my shirt a little, roll my sleeves, and give a couple more steps. I stop. My coat. I forgot it…I look back. It's on the back of the chair next to Faye's, maybe she'll notice it and keep it until tomorrow. Maybe. Or maybe not…Still, right now, walking one block back feels like I'll have to cross half of Mars. But, my coat. I have my communicator in there…and my cigarettes too…Fuck. Now I feel like smoking. Well, at least I have my wallet and gun. Maybe I should just buy another pack…but I had just bought the pack in my coat. I sigh and turn back.

After, what feels like hours, I finally see the ramen stall again. It's still crowded. And I think the waiting line actually got a little longer. But Faye and Jessica are there. Although the table I had occupied earlier is in the opposite side of the stall, I can hear them as I walk back.

I move around the cart unhurriedly. But suddenly something changes. The lively voices of Faye and Jessica stop. And it's not like it's a gradual fade of them walking away. It's just abrupt silence.

I run to the table—It's that guy. The one waiting by the door. I slow down, but I don't stop walking towards them. What the hell is he doing standing there?

Faye notices me first. She's sitting down, my coat folded over her left arm. She meets my gaze easily and her eyes lead me towards that guy standing next to Jessica. Then, she lifts her right hand and tucks in the strays of her hair behind her right ear. But there's a peculiar form that she uses. Her pinky and ring finger folded inward, her thumb cocked, the other two held together over her temple…a gun…is the man armed?

I look at him. But his interest seems to be solely captured by Jessica. He's speaking too quietly and it's impossible for me to hear what he's saying. I walk a little closer and try to discern most of the words I can't hear by reading his lips.

"You'll come with me today, won't you?" he says.

Jessica shakes her head and her shoulders pull upwards, "I'm with a friend tonight…so it's…not possible."

"But you don't want your friend to get hurt, do you? That's not a very good thing for someone to do."

"I don't want that," Jessica answers nervously, her shoulders now shaking.

I glance at Faye and I see her eyebrows knitting together. Though she's sitting motionless on the chair, I know that she's desperately trying to find a way to help. The only thing preventing her from acting is her position. The way her legs are tucked under the table and the way in which the back of her chair is right next to another one would make it impossible for her to do anything but hurt herself in the process. No matter which way I look at it, Jessica is definitely in a hostile situation and Faye has wound up tangled in it.

It really is crowded. In a place like this, it'll be bad for weapons to be involved. I'm not really sure how to handle it…but I guess there's nothing else that can be done.

"Jess!" I say loudly, "How have you been?"

That much works. The man finally turns towards me. It's strange, his soft features make him look like a nice person. I might have doubted Faye, had it not been for the back of the gun he failed to cover as he turned. He hides it quickly though. And I pretend not to have noticed. I walk closer even and rest my hand on the back of Jessica's chair.

She's surprised. "S-Spike!"

"Are you guys eating ramen here? Do you mind if I join you?"

Jessica looks confused.

The man says somewhat haughtily, "Sorry, but Jess was finished eating and she was going to join me now."

"Really?" I say openly, "But she's still has half of her noodles left." I turn to Jessica and lay my hand on her back, "Jess, you need to eat more, the crazy diets you go into aren't good. Besides, men don't really like women that are too thin." I look up at the man. His expression shifts quickly from annoyance to neutral. "Isn't that right?"

He states in a rather annoying voice, "Jessica is not like that, so it should be fine if she doesn't feel like eating half a bowl of ramen."

I place my right hand on his left shoulder. He jumps. Again, I act as if I'm not aware. "You say that now, but what'll you do if her ribs start poking through. Just be patient," I say moving him closer to the chair I had occupied minutes before, "sit down and let her finish her noodles."

He's clearly not happy with the way things are going. But I'm sure that he also realizes that making a fuss at a place like this won't do anything but cause more issues. He sits down apprehensively, but as he does, his sight never leaves Jessica.

I glimpse at Faye and smile, tilting my chin upwards just slightly. Somehow, Faye catches on very quickly. She says, "I'll get an extra chair." Then, Faye asks the woman behind her if she can move forward a little since she needs to stand. Faye finally squirms out of her seat and moves a few steps away.

Just then, one of the two girls serving the ramen passes by the table. I say quickly, "Could we order?"

She stops right next to the man and glances at us. She's holding a large tray with bowls of steaming ramen. She takes a second to shift it and says, "Sure, just let me get these—"

I pull Jessica up from her seat. "Run," I tell her.

Jessica listens quickly and dashes forward somewhere in Faye's direction. I hear her say, "Auntie! I'll pay you later!"

The man struggles to rise. I stay behind, hoping to find a way to give Faye and Jessica a little more time to get away.

"Jessica! Wait!" The man shouts. He turns to the person behind him, "Move your fucking chair!"

"Stop!" The waitress pleads, "Even if you're the chief of the police, this is not the way you treat people here!"

I'm about to follow behind Faye and Jessica. But then I hear something heavy striking the aluminum table.

"Shut up," the chief says angrily, holding his gun out. Seeing this, the man behind him moves quickly. The chief stands up and waves his gun at the waitress. "Girlie, that's not the way you talk to me."

The waitress cowers back, the tray and bowls shaking as she moves. She is completely unaware of distance and doesn't stop moving away until I stop her by placing my hands on her shoulders, her back merely a few inches away from my chest. She glances at me, completely frightened.

By this point, everyone in the stall has realized the extent of the argument. People have begun to shrink in their seats and some further away have either dashed away running or hid underneath the tables. The old woman in charge of the stall doesn't seem to be worried and she continues cooking ramen as if nothing of importance was occurring.

I look back at Faye rushing Jessica forward. If I can still see them, it may be far too easy for the chief to catch up. Even if I go with them now, Faye is one thing, but there's no way I can get Jessica to run any faster than she already is. I really regret getting involved in this now, but if I'm already in this deep...

I say as mockingly as possible, "Then what's the proper way to talk to the gentleman that is the chief of the police." The waitress turns around again and stares at me, her eyes screaming my stupidity much louder than she ever could. I smirk a little and lead her to stand behind me instead of in front.

The chief grins, "You're a cocky fucker aren't you? From the beginning, if you hadn't interrupted, everything would have been fine."

"Sorry," I apologize sarcastically. "I'm naturally inclined to be nice. I can't help but rescue a poor woman when she's getting hassled."

He laughs, "Jess? Poor woman? That's an interesting way of referring to a whore. The expensive type that'll do just about anything for money. Surprised?"

I had already expected something like this so I respond easily, "Not at all. And to be honest, it's not even because of her that I've decided to waste this much time on you."

This bit confuses him. His mouth twists and all he can say is, "Fucker."

I chuckle.

It's then that the chief peers past the waitress and past me, rashly searching the area in which Faye and Jessica had run with his sight. I take the opportunity to draw the gun from my back. And when he finally bothers to face me, I've already readied my trigger finger.

He laughs. "Would you like to spend the rest of your life in jail? Ah, but there's something better. Go ahead and fire. If you do that, you open up the law so I can shoot you." He taps his forehead and he says, "Right between the eyes."

"That's fine," I respond aloofly, "I've lived long enough and I haven't really gotten anywhere in the past few years anyway."

Still. If I were to say that I could easily shoot the chief, it would be a lie. I relax my shoulder while clearly maintaining focus on the chief. Well, if it comes down to a matter of missing or not missing, I suppose I don't have another alternative but to hit just right.

The chief runs the tip of his gun over the aluminum tabletop. He rubs his chin for a second before slowly turning the corner of the table. His lip curls and he says, "What are you thinking about for so long? Getting scared now?"

"Nah," I say making sure my aim is precise, "I'm just wondering if this is worth the bullet."

"Do you even have a permit for that?"

"Of course I do," I say dismissively.

And I shoot. A scream. To my right. The waitress flails. And then my right shoulder burns. And then a loud crash of tumbling dishes. The liquid heat spreading quickly down my body. I glance at the chief, back on the ground and gritted teeth. Gun by his feet. To the waitress. Then I clutch my shoulder. "What the hell was that for!"

She's crying, her hands already over her quivering lips, "I'm sorry."

I grimace, the heat biting my skin. I glance at the chief one more time and kick the gun gently enough for it to slide out of his reach. I look at the waitress again, "Sorry, but I'm going to have to leave him there. And that," I say pointing at the gun, "don't let anyone touch it."

She nods, or seems to nods. "Right…" Then, she smiles clumsily, "No one likes him around here, so we won't tell on you…But you know, we still have to call an ambulance."

I smirk, "I guess I'll take that as your apology for the burn."

I bite my lips once more before turning to get a running start. Surprisingly, for the first time in the night, I hear the owner shout after me, "You have to cool down that burn!"

As if that were a priority. I run. I run towards the direction I last saw Faye and Jessica. I don't even know why I'm trying to follow behind them. I just run. Because Faye has my coat. And my cigarettes. And my communicator—That's right, I don't need to try and find them. I move aimlessly, simply creating distance between the ramen stall and me. I run for about fifteen minutes before I decide to stop. Not because I'm exhaused or because I've created enough distance, but because there's a convenience store and I can see that a customer is being allowed to use the store phone.

I walk inside and casually walk along the aisles. First, I decide to stop by the restroom too see how badly I've been scalded. I unbutton my shirt and curse after seeing just how bad it really is. Realizing the extent of it only makes it sting even more. I sigh and I hang my shirt over the paper towels. My skin is red. Not something extremely vivid, but something like a bad sunburn. From the bottom of my chin, my arm, half of my torso, to my upper hip. Everything is red. I run cold water in the sink and splash some over my body. It feels really good. I repeat the same process several times, seeing my skin loose some of its redness.

Eventually, I heave, forcing myself to shut off the water and put my shirt on again. The miso stock has nearly dried and I can see the little rivers of brown setting in on my shirt. There's nothing I can do about that, or the smell either, so I finish buttoning up and walk out.

On the way to the counter, I pick up a bottle of water and gum. When I begin to pay, I ask if I can use the phone. The clerk lets me know that there's a charge. I tell him it's fine and he finishes up the transaction before handing me the receiver.

Though I know it from memory, I don't want Faye to know that, so I decide to dial my phone number instead of hers. I only hear the tone for a few rings before Faye ask, "Where are you?"

"Hello to you too…Let's see, I think it was near Elm and…"

"Eighty-second," the clerk puts in shortly.

"That's right," I say quietly. Then, I repeat to Faye, "Elm and eighty-second."

Faye takes a second to respond, slowly saying, "…Already there."

"Why? Where are you?"

"Palm and…seventy-nine. In the bar where someone I know works."

So she must be safe now. I exhale. But just as my muscles relax, the events of the night catch up to me and I feel incredibly exhausted. In fact, so tired that my back begins to ache. How much am I allowed to do for Faye? Or rather, how much is it okay for me to do before going insane with the frustration of not knowing my role? This much is enough. It's fine now, isn't it? I've done enough for one day. Faye seems to be doing well, so even if I leave her alone now, she should be okay. "Then—"

"Come over," Faye cuts in. "It won't take too long for you to get here."

I exhale, the weight of my exhaustion piling over my shoulders.

But Faye doesn't even notice. Instead, she says, "I'm waiting at a place called Angels."

"Is that a lesbian bar?"

"You're wasting time. Just hurry up and get here." Then she hangs up.

I don't know whether or not to even waste energy on a reaction. I end the call and hand the receiver to the clerk as I ask him about the shortest way to get to Angels.

He laughs first and says, "Yeah, that's a lesbian bar. Is your girl there?"

"Does it sound that way?"

He smirks, "I guess not if she's at Angels. Anyway, to get there, just head left here on eighty-second until you meet Palm. Then turn right until seventy nine. You'll see it easily. Has a bright pink neon sign on the outside. Should be seven-eight blocks."

"Thanks," I say shortly before walking out.

"Good luck!" I hear just as the door shuts behind me.

I frown. That's the last phrase that I want to hear now. The sound of it makes me stop on my tracks and I have to remind myself that I need to start walking before I move again.

Thankfully, it turns out to be only seven blocks of distance. The place is easy to find; the sign really is obnoxious enough that I had spotted it a block away. I stand underneath it for a second reading "Angels" and in smaller letters underneath "Women Only."

…Really Faye? You hate me this much.

The place doesn't have a line, but through the windows I can tell that there is a decent number of people inside. Seeing no other choice, I approach the bouncers. They're both women. Very tall and very thick women who have no inconvenience wearing their guns openly. Once I reach them, I ask if either could get Faye or Jessica to see me.

"That's not possible," is the short response.

"Poor girl," the other says quietly.

But I hear it, and I instinctively ask, "Then, they really are here aren't they?"

The first responds again, "This is not the place to harass people, please leave."

One of my eyebrows jumps. Do I look like that sort of person?...I'm getting annoyed so easily…I breathe once before evenly stating, "Listen, I don't mind if I see them or not, but can one of you get my coat from Faye? That's all I really want."

"Ah! So you're that person!" The second says pointing at me.

"That person?" I ask.

"What's your name?" The first says.

"Spike."

"Yep," they say in unison, "That's him." They turn to each other and laugh, jinxing each other once before turning to face me again.

"Sorry, buddy," the first says smiling, "We've been so busy keeping a lookout for Jess that I nearly forgot. It's just, that chief is one persistent bastard who can't tell when something is just business. But anyway, yeah, Faye said you might be coming. "

Might be? Wasn't she the one that insisted I come? "Then," for a second I'm wordless, "…can you let her know I'm here now?"

The first scratches her head and looks around the street. She turns to me and says, "Just go on in, Faye's sitting in the back."

"It's fine," I respond quickly, "I can wait here."

"No, really," the second responds, "just step inside. No one's going to give you trouble since we let you in. Here, come with me."

I follow after her, not caring anymore about what happens. The sooner I get my coat and see Faye, the sooner I get to leave and find a way to keep cooling down the scald and rest. And more importantly. The sooner I can stop troubling myself with trying to find my place in all this.

The bouncer and I pass through a second set of doors and then she suddenly yells, "Faye! Spike is here!" She turns to me and smiles, "There you go."

"Thanks," I say uncertainly, already feeling the animosity of several glances. She turns back and exits again. I avoid directly meeting anyone's sight and look up, peering deeper into the bar. Faye catches my attention and motions me to go towards her. Walking there, I realize that the place is not really all that big. And that there are actually a couple of men, though unmistakably not heterosexual. I blink and look towards Faye again. Just then, I realize she's sitting alone. I give a few more steps and I ask, "Where's Jessica?"

"What happened to you?" Faye says standing up. She smirks, "Your neck is as bright as my lipstick."

"It's not that bad."

She waits for me to reach the booth. Then, she peels the collar of my shirt. I feel her fingertips and flinch. Faye stares at me somewhat insulted. Then, she waits for a second and slowly places her cool fingers over my neck again. It feels good. I close my eyes—Damn, I wish she wouldn't only place her fingertips. The length of her fingers and palm, I wish I could hold them tightly against the stinging of my neck.—I force my eyes open.

"So," she asks mischievously, lifting my chin and carefully looking underneath it. "How'd you end up like this?"

I lick my lips and say, "The waitress freaked out when I shot the chief and she ended up spilling the damned ramen all over me."

Faye stops looking at my skin to meet my eyes, "So it was you…we heard it. Kind of a stupid move."

"I know it was…Anyway, no one else got hurt and I didn't get any of his vitals..."

She laughs, "So you got off pretty well."

"If getting scalded is getting off pretty well. The waitress had just gotten the ramen from the kitchen, so I wouldn't be surprised if it'd been boiling seconds before…Well, I guess it's fine, it's not that bad but it's a lot more than you think."

"Is it?" she asks pulling the neck of my shirt again, rising to her tip-toes, and peering inside my clothes.

…Actually, I'm not all that comfortable with this. "What are you trying to do?" I say taking her hands away from my shirt. "Pervert."

"You wish…" She steps back, jerking her hands away from my fingers, and sits down haughtily. "You smell like ramen," she says.

I watch her stare at the empty side across from her. I guess I'm supposed to take a seat. I move slowly, slouching over the table and resting my arm on the tabletop while supporting my head with my palm. I close my eyes, yawning. I keep them closed afterwards, feeling the blood pulsating through the burns.

"Spike…"

"What is it?" I ask dully.

"…are you really all that tired?"

"I wonder," I answer.

We sit in silence for at least five minutes. But it doesn't feel right. There must be something else…I mean, she couldn't have possibly made me walk all the way here just to ask that.

"Spike."

"Hm?"

"…Help me pay for a taxi."

This…really can't be it. I look up at her and grin. "Ha, I should have expected this."

"If you'd let your wallet in your coat then you wouldn't have had to worry."

"You know I never keep my wallet there," I say sitting up. "But while we're at it, hand me back my coat."

Faye grunts and tosses it to me. She waits a second before asking again, "So, are you going to help? Jessica left her purse in the ramen shop…and today I didn't carry much with me."

No wonder she made me pay for everything today. But. That aside. She made me walk here just for that? "Ask someone else."

"That's why I'm asking you."

This isn't it either. Is it? "Just walk."

"It's twenty minutes from here!"

Why don't you just tell me? "And then what?"

"What…do you mean?"

I really am at my limit. "What else are you going to expect me to do?" I respond more coldly than I intend.

"Why are you—You said you'd help me out."

Why is it so hard? If you have something to tell me, just do so. I heave. "That's right," I begin, choosing not to mask any of my annoyance, "I said I'd help you, not that I'd become your bitch—"

"—I get it!" She looks at the wall and her fingers start tapping the tabletop anxiously. I watch her swallow, stare at my coat, and lick her lips. She can't get herself to look at me directly while she speaks, yet she manages to make her voice unreadable, "…Damian's fine…In the news, right before you called, he's been rescued."

So…that's it…But. If that's the case, what's with this attitude? If Damian's okay, shouldn't she be at least a little happy over this? Otherwise, why was she so intent on finding him? From the beginning, I could care less about Damian. Then why is it that, even with this change, my worry over Faye has yet to decrease?

Faye exhales and finally manages to face me. "I want to get home and rest…Jessica is coming since she's still freaked out over what happened earlier…If you want. You can sleep on my couch. It's big. I even used to sleep there before I got my bed. So, help me pay for a cab."

I want to know. I don't care about being tired. I don't care about being annoyed. I just want to know. What happened between Faye and Damian that's gotten everything to become like this? I can't let her be without knowing what's the cause behind it. "Then," I begin slowly, "I guess it's fine. It'll probably be cheaper than any place I could find tonight."

"Really?" She asks more to herself than me, "That's it?"

"What?"

"Somehow, I thought you'd put up more of an argument."

"I would have. But I'm probably more worn out than you."

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm older now. Two years past thirty and you realize you're not getting any younger."

I don't know why but this much makes her smile and her tone of voice finally changes. "Poor Spike," she says teasingly, "Did today wear you out old man?"

Though I'm glad to see her reacting to something, coming from her, the remark insults me. It's not like she has the right to be talking about age anyway. But I realize that saying this will only make her revert to her previous condition. In the end, all I can say is, "It's not like I'm fifty you know."

"Ah," she persists, "but with your luck, that's probably your total life expectan—Nevermind, if it's a matter of luck, then you'll probably outlive me."

"Single men die much sooner."

She laughs and says very loosely, "Then just find someone and…" She doesn't finish her sentence. I wait. But Faye let's the silence extend for much longer than anyone would find acceptable.

I look up and notice that she's become completely distracted by something else, her sight fixated in the very center of the table. I stare at her for a second before deciding to ask, "And what after I find her?"

Faye looks up, blinking, until her sight adjusts to my distance. "…After you find her…" She chuckles lightly, "First. Find someone."

I smirk, "I know. That's why I'm more interested to know what you'll say I need to do after I find her." I meet her sight straight on, "What do I do?"

Faye freezes over. Completely. It takes her two entire seconds before she even blinks. She licks her lips and stands up slowly, much too slowly really. "I better go find Jess," she says walking away from the booth with complete constraint of her reaction.

I watch her leave until she takes a hallway away from the main room. I lean back on the seat but I'm not able to keep a straight face. That's not what I meant by that at all. I meant. Because it was obvious first I needed to find someone. That's why I wanted to know what she thought came afterwards. And even if it'd been meant to be any other way—Come on Faye, it's not like you didn't know already.

But, I guess, even with that, I'm happy to know she's still aware of me. Even if only a little. It's a relief. Because it's not like I was intentionally trying to remind her that she's the one I'm interested in. Rather. I was just…Maybe though. I wasn't. Was I? No…I was. Wasn't I?...Fuck. I was. I didn't think about it. But I did it. I did it anyway.

I sigh…I better not have messed anything up. And when did I start smiling? I shouldn't be so damn excited to have her react like this either. "Great," I say quietly with every once of sarcasm I can muster. Then, I sit in the booth for a good five minutes contemplating my dilemma and cursing at myself for increasing my anxiousness.

"You're okay!" Jessica yells and shakes me out of my stupor. "I'm so glad! I'm sorry about what happened and thank you for what you did." She's suddenly quiet but returns to her set speaking rhythm quickly. "I was really scared but Faye told me that you're just like a cockroach so you wouldn't die."

"Hearing that wouldn't make anyone happy."

She replies assertively, "But it should. It means she has confidence in you! Besides, even if she said it, I could tell she was way worried—Ah! Don't tell her I said that."

I smirk, "I'm not sure. Should I tell her?"

"No! Don't! How about…I'll tell you what she said earlier. Right before eating!"

Though more coherently, she reacts just like Ed too. "…I wonder."

"It's really, really interesting!" Jessica sits down on whatever is left of the seat on my side of the booth. She leans closer to me and says in a loud whisper, "It's super interesting!"

"Is it?"

"Yes. Super interesting!"

Had it not been for dealing with Ed for so long, I may not be able to keep up with Jessica now. For a second, I actually miss Ed. And then I remember how much of a handful she can actually be.

I decide I've messed with Jessica enough and say, "Okay, it's a deal then."

Jessica squeals and waves me closer to her before she says, "Faye said that, since the very beginning, both of you were always ignoring each other."

I sit up slowly afterwards, "How's that interesting? Should I go tell her now?"

"No, wait!" She says blocking me, "It is super interesting because, seeing you two today, I think, instead of ignoring each other, isn't it that you're trying to keep yourselves from getting any closer?"

I can only laugh. Entirely out of uneasiness.

"I'm serious!" she says a little upset.

"Is that how it looks?" I ask her.

"Yes! But not only that," she responds easily, "that's also how it feels."

"…is it…"

Then, someone from the back calls out, "Jess, the girls are waiting for you!"

"We're coming!" Jessica turns and pulls me up from the seat as she stands, "Let's go, Faye and Sarah are waiting for us in the back."

I wince. "Sarah?"

"Oh, yeah, of course you wouldn't know her yet." She grabs my arm and tugs me forward, "Well, hurry so you can meet her. But don't worry, since she's coming along, she's willing to pay part of the fare."

And she leads me through the same hallway Faye had gone earlier. We walk through the kitchen and for some reason I'm briefly introduced to the staff before walking out through the back door.

Faye and Sarah are standing right outside of the entrance, smoking.

Sarah looks boyish. Thin and tall with a well-toned body. Her dirty blonde hair just long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail. Faded eye-liner. Skinny jeans with brown boots and a low-cut white tank top with a blue bra. Next to Faye, she looks rather plain. But I doubt I'm being objective about it anymore.

"There you are," Faye says only to Jessica. I notice she hesitates before she addresses me. "…Spike," she says looking out of the alley and into the street, "I called a cab a while ago so he should be coming by soon." She extends her hand and only glances at me, "These are yours."

I swallow.

I take the pack of cigarettes from her hand and snatch the one from in between her lips. "Then this one is mine as well, right?" I don't wait to see her react. I walk closer to the street, smoking whatever is left of her cigarette as I go.

Once there, I look back at the three and notice they're slowly walking closer. Faye is the one furthest back. And after putting out her cigarette, Sarah is first. I turn back to the street and watch a couple of cars pass by. I put the pack of cigarettes in my coat and take another drag. Sarah reaches me. She watches me take the last drag of the cigarette. I let the butt fall to the ground and put it out.

But Sarah is still looking at me. I meet her gaze, "What is it?"

"You look so cool smoking." Contrary to her image, her voice is rather feminine.

Jessica runs forward, clinging to Sarah's arm as if to keep her from going anywhere. She says quickly, "You can't! He's Faye's!"

"I'm what?" I ask.

"No, what I meant is—"

"—If it's not like that, it's fine," Sarah says dismissively. She turns to me again, "Hi, I'm Sarah and you're totally my type. What's your name again?"

"Spike," I say, "and, apparently, I'm Faye's."

Sarah giggles, "What to do? I think I like you even more now."

Besides us, Jessica is a mess of nervousness. "Friend! I meant Faye's friend," she finally manages to get out. But by that time it seems rather unnecessary.

For some reason, Jessica and Sarah keep quiet when Faye is only a few feet away. And when she stops next to me, they watch her expectantly, from the looks of it, seriously hoping to see her explode with jealousy. And I'm the only one not surprised when she merely says, "Spike, let me have another cigarette."

"You already smoked half of one," I tell her.

"It wasn't enough." Before I can do anything to stop her, she steps forward and digs the pack of cigarettes out from my coat. She casually takes one out and returns the pack.

"Did you not hear me just now?"

She looks up, the cigarette already between her lips. "Lighter."

"Really?"

But she doesn't say anything else. She just stands there. Waiting.

I exhale quietly, pulling the lighter out of my pocket. I unconsciously flick it on and hold it for her. Faye leans closer. She wraps her fingers around my hand to keep the flame in place, lights the cigarette, and releases my hand, her fingers dragging on my skin as she slowly moves back.

No one says anything else after that. We stand around awkwardly looking at the street and exchanging glances. Finally, Jessica and Sarah attempt to start a conversation. But Faye is never interested enough to be part of it and I never know what they're talking about. They try to ask me about myself, but by this point I'm too tired to care. And we end up standing in pairs. Faye and I smoking and not saying a word. Jessica and Sarah talking to each other rather excitedly. The contrast is so antagonizing that by the time the cab finally arrives, we all rush forward to reach it.

Faye, Jessica, and Sarah sit in the backseat while I take shotgun. The cab driver starts making small talk with me and I decide to follow along just to stay awake. Behind us, only for a couple of minutes, I can hear the women moving. After I notice they've stopped making so much noise, I look through the rearview mirror and see them all sitting with straight faces. Faye is looking out the window. The cab driver asks me something. I look forward and answer.

Once we arrive at the apartments, the women step out of the cab quickly. Contrary to what Jessica had said, Sarah does not pay a single cent of the fare. They stand behind me, waiting as the cab driver finishes my transaction. But when I turn around, they're already walking several meters ahead of me.

I don't care about Jessica. I don't care about Sarah. But Faye—That's fine, Faye. Walk ahead.

*** * * Ch. 11 End, Continued on Chapter 12 * * ***

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><p><strong>About this story:<strong> It seems what I had initially thought as a two-part chapter didn't agree with me. The second part ended up being divided into two so that now there are three parts—You know what, it really doesn't matter anymore. What did I learn from all this? I'm horrible at estimating the lengths of my works.

_Again, thanks for the support! So, reviewers, readers, thank you for being awesome. I promise that by the end of this story you will be rewarded somehow._


	12. Is This It

_I hope that you will enjoy this much-belated update._

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><p><strong>* * * Ch. 12 – IS THIS IT (The Strokes) * * *<strong>

I turn my back to Faye and watch the cab disappear through the streets. When I can't see it anymore, my sight drifts upwards, following the lines of the buildings and the power lines until it meets the sky. There are no stars. And it's not even black. It's an ugly, murky color like rotten water running through rusted pipes.

It's way too late…Or much too early for that matter.

I sigh and look down to the asphalt. I turn left. And I turn right. I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. Where the hell am I?

I stand in place listening to their collection of footsteps fading into the echo of the city. Just standing alone in the middle of the street, wondering why I've let myself get this far into something I don't know. Something so vague and unpredictable that it actually makes me insecure. I take a cigarette and light it up merely to feel the familiar scent of nicotine surrounding me. And I stand in place, every muscle in my body locked as these thoughts repeat themselves over and over again.

Minutes after the cab has left, the last wisps of smoke crawl up to the gloomy sky, blending into the air as they escalate. There's a second of hesitation. But then I let the cigarette fall from my lips. And I sigh. My sight to the ground, I watch the butt of the cigarette burn, the ring around its end slowly fading in intensity.

I look up and give a step forward, stepping on the cigarette as I begin to follow the path that the cab had taken earlier.

"Are you done now?" her voice somewhat breaking out of a whisper.

And if ever in my life I have been scared, it is now. My breath stops. My body freezes over. My heart beating so fast I can feel the resonance of the pulsations in my stomach. Click. Click. Click. The markings of her even steps make the muscles of my body tense up more and more with a weird mixture of indecision and anticipation.

"So I guess it's true," Faye says quietly.

I don't bother to acknowledge her.

She waits a second before speaking again, the words leaving her slowly, "…the older you get, the more you become like a kid again…"

The wind is still and I can feel her sight on me. A small pressure on my shoulders. A dull wavering in my chest. The sort of sensation that will make any man falter. I glance back quickly. And curse myself for doing so. She's staring at me, her arms crossed close to her body. I turn away, shifting my weight and looking around the street again.

"Don't you remember?" she asks, her heels now dragging as she walks. "You're supposed to stay in a group…Hurry up," and then I feel the back of my sleeve tugged, "we've already been left behind."

"…It's fine…" I say, struggling to keep my voice even.

I hear her inhale roughly, the exact same noise she used to make years ago when she tried to suppress her frustration. But she exhales quietly, and a few seconds after she asks rather seriously, "What's fine?"

I meet her gaze only to look away. And I can't respond properly. "I think…I'll head back after all."

She clutches my shirt. "Why?" She retaliates quickly, "Don't be an idiot. As tired as you claim to be—It's already this late—"

"Shouldn't you be with Jessica and Sarah?"

"What for?" Her hold on my shirt tighter still. "They even know where the spare key is," she says snidely. "It's just you who's the odd man out."

And I laugh. As honestly as I ever could. Truly laughing. At everything. At the situation. At myself.

"What's with that!" she says as she hastily releases my sleeve.

"What's with that?" I repeat to myself as I turn to face her, her expression caught between repugnance and confusion.

But I really should be the one asking that. What's with that? Why hold on to my sleeve so tightly while saying something like that?

I smirk once before forcing myself to stop, "What's with that?" I say looking down, loudly enough for Faye to hear clearly. "I guess…nothing really."

"You…" She steps forward, "Won't you just." She grips my shoulders—

And I jolt under her touch, giving a hasty half-step back. "Watch it!"

She retorts quickly, "it's because you're like this—You should've said something sooner!"

"Sooner?...Ah, right," I reply calmly but sardonic to the point of harm, "Is it because one way or another I'm supposed to figure out what you're thinking?"

Faye stands with her hands tensed at her sides, her lips pressed, her chest heaving.

And we stand there. On the edge of the sidewalk. Time quickly making me repent saying something I had full-heartedly meant.

After the pain leaves my skin, the area keeps pulsating as if Faye was still pressing the veins of my shoulder so tightly that my blood had to struggle to pass through the constricted space.—It annoys me.—I break out of our statuesque stance and pull back the collar of my shirt to look at my shoulder. "…Fuck…It's still red…"

Her sight on the ground, Faye says distantly, "…Even if it's something that heals in a week, you shouldn't just leave it like that..."

My fingers slip away from my collar.

She looks up. "You can't take care of it out here…so…just hurry up already." She reaches for me again, but with nowhere near as much certainty as before. Although I see her hands approaching me, I still flinch at her touch. This time she makes sure to pull me by my left wrist, holding me like a mother might lead her stubborn child. "It's on the fourth floor," she says, "so it already takes a while to get there as is. I don't need you to be procrastinating right now."

And it's extremely painful to realize just how consciously Faye pushes us to re-establish roles that we had been well adjusted to in the past. Whatever else doesn't matter. Right now, I've become the idiot getting injured for no valuable reason. And Faye. Even if it may not be the case, I guess Faye's trying to be the one who acts unconcerned while worrying.

I want to shake her hand off. I really do. But as aggravated as I may be, I hate that I have neither the willingness nor energy left to defy her. That in reality, I'm the one who should be ashamed for letting myself get so caught up in something that I should have let go of as soon as I realized it.

I don't put up any resistance; I slowly catch on to her pace, my eyes looking forward to the building. There is nothing particularly special about it. Only four floors tall. Grey concrete. Metal stairs. Not trashy. But not luxurious. Just normal.

"There's no elevator," Faye says. "So being on the fourth floor…it's inconvenient…" And another second of silence passes before she adds, "…don't you think?"

And as if to add insult to injury, Faye speaks to me as we had been in perfectly good terms since the moment we met again.

I force myself to speak, consciously controlling my reaction, obviously joking when I say, "I guess it'll keep you from getting fat."

She punches my uninjured shoulder, but with no real intention. She smiles and looks up at me, "Who's the one who said women's rib's shouldn't show?"

But though Faye can speak normally, after seeing her unconsciously smile—which has been a rare occurrence for me lately—I have difficulty answering her at all, "That…Wasn't that just a roundabout way of referring to Jessica?"

"Tsk," Faye clicks her tongue, but I catch a bit of a smirk on her lips.

We give a few more steps and I realize that, within that short distance, her hold on me has completely changed. With only her fingertips applying a soft pressure to my triceps. Gentle. And completely unnecessary. And we don't say another word.

Through the patio. Up the four flights of stairs. And, only after turning the doorknob to her apartment, Faye releases my arm. She opens the door unhurriedly, carefully stepping inside.

"Hey Faye!" Sarah yells from the inside, "Don't you have any beer?"

Faye lightly touches, or rather barely touches, my hand before she walks towards the kitchen saying, "Why the hell would I have beer? If you want alcohol I only have whiskey and wine. If you want something else go get it from your fridge."

And I abruptly miss the pressure of Faye's touch. Reflexively, I slide my hand over the place she had held. I indulge in the feeling for a second. But I catch myself and I hastily put my hands in my pockets while giving a step forward into the apartment.

It's a nice size. There's a small space after the entrance with some of Faye's shoes scattered around. The living room is big enough for a small television, a coffee table over a round rug, and a large grey couch filled with pillows of every shape and color. There's a picture of Ed and Ein on the shelf of a bookcase built into the corner of the room. And a picture of Ed drawing on Jet's face while he sleeps.—There is no picture of me.—The walls are mostly bare. And the dining area is more of an office space. It has a tall dining table covered in folders and papers, a laptop sitting over a small stack, and four tall chairs, one holding a printer. There's a small island separating the kitchen and dining area. The kitchen has a full size fridge, stove, microwave, and even a dishwasher, with enough cabinet space to store more than anyone could eat in a couple of weeks. There's a door to the right of the dining area, and as I walk closer to the dining table, I catch a glimpse of the corner of a bed.

It's then that Jessica steps out of, what I'm assuming to be, the bedroom door, yelling in surprise, a shrill shriek that makes my ears ring. I grimace and watch her heave and stutter, "That scared me…You shouldn't stand in doorways like that. It'll scare me."

I smirk. Wasn't she being a little too familiar with me?

"Hey, Spike," Sarah calls, "lend me your height for a sec."

Not that this other one is being any different. And with less of a reason to do so.

"What for?" Jessica says before I even bother to reply. "Don't you always brag about your height? Where is it now, huh?"

"To a shrimp like you," Sarah laughs, "I won't say I don't brag about it. But the real issue here is that I can't hold my whiskey and I'm a few inches too short to reach the wine."

"Wine!" Jessica squeals, "That's a different story altogether!" She grabs the sleeve of my shirt and pulls me towards the kitchen. Her strength is basically nothing. I stand in place and she ends up stumbling forward instead. She picks up her composure and says persuasively, "Ah, of course you're a whiskey sort of man…I'll tell you where Faye keeps it if you help us reach her wine."

"Why are you making deals so openly?" Faye asks stepping out of a hallway next to the refrigerator. She's changed her clothes, her navel exposed, and fixes her camisole over her abdomen as she says, "Isn't it obvious I can clearly hear you?"

But next to Faye, Sarah doesn't seem to be very patient. Seeing no one aid her, she climbs on to the sink, grabs the wine from the rack, and steps down again. When Faye faces her, she looks at her in disgust.

"What?" Sarah says, "Like you don't like to drink?"

"The issue is not drinking," Faye retorts.

Jessica practically skips to the kitchen and I'm left standing next to the door of the bedroom. I glance inside, but it's too dark and I can't see anything. I face the kitchen again, watching Faye for a second.

Although we're only separated by a few feet, it feels like a different world altogether. Though at some point I had picked up the habit of watching others to pass the time, right now, watching makes me uncomfortable. I can only stand it for a little while before walking away towards the living area.

I stroll to the couch, trying to catch something that I may have missed the first time I had glanced around. But there really isn't much. Except a lot of pillows. Everywhere. A pillow on each of two dining chairs. A pillow underneath the coffee table. A pillow besides the TV stand. And when I finally get to the couch, I have to move some out of the way before I can sit down.

I cross my hands and stare at my fingers while attempting to mentally suppress the itchiness that has developed over the scald. But it becomes too much to bear and I run my nails over my shoulder. It hurts. I stop and let the pain dissuade. Except, as soon as the sting begins to clear, the itchiness is right there again. I try for a second time, but I only end up confirming that the area is too tender to scratch…I exhale and my sight catches the television's remote control. I pick it up and say, "Faye, I'm turning this on."

In the kitchen, she seems to have her hands full handling the other two. "Do whatever you want," she says quickly.

I push the power button. It's the news. An overview of Damian's earlier press-release to be exact. I glance at the kitchen and change the channel before anyone notices. The next channel is a rerun of an association football match. The finals for a cup whose name would be impossible for me to pronounce on the first try. But it's entertaining enough, so I decide not to risk running into more programming with Damian as a topic.

After a few minutes, Faye walks next to the coffee table and sits down a glass of water. She extends her hand towards me. "Here."

"What is it?"

"Poison."

"…"

"Just give me your hand."

I do as she says, half struggling to do so, and she drops two mildly dark orange pills onto my palm. And whether on purpose or not, our fingertips catch as she moves her hand away.

"This is ibuprofen," she says. "You're bad with acetaminophen, right?"

Faye walks away without hearing my answer. Leaving me by myself in the unfinished conversation she had started.

But she's right; I break out in hives if I take acetaminophen.

After taking the medication, the pain on my skin begins to dissuade and the lack of sleep starts catching up to me. I watch the game mindlessly, reflexively following the movements on the screen without paying attention to anything that is happening.

Still, I'm very curious. And, whether consciously or not, I change the channel back to the news. Commercials are playing. I keep watching, unconsciously waiting for the programming to return. Yet, the instant I see Damian's face, I change the channel back to the match.

This isn't good.

I slide my palm over my face and eyes. I inhale…What am I doing? If I want to know, isn't it fine for me to just figure it out? I sigh and carefully lean back on the couch, this time determined to keep the channel on the news.

But all of my resolve amounts to nothing. As I'm about to finally change the channel, I see a scrolling banner appear at the top of the match. The headline reads: Knight Speaks About Abduction.

Even this much makes me nervous and I can't keep my sight still at all. From the television to Faye. It keeps jumping back and forth as I hastily try to make sense of things.

A midfielder is expelled from the game and the yellow team has a penalty shot. Knight was held captive by one of the top groups of drug smugglers in Mars. The opposing goalie successfully blocked the shot. Faye is looking through her nearly empty cabinets complaining that she can't ever remember where she puts things. Knight's struggle to control smuggling made him the group's target. An unexpected goal from the maroon team. Faye drops a box of cereal, the little pieces scatter all over the counter and floor. Knight was abducted following the arrest and sentence of lifetime imprisonment of the group's leader. The yellow team's goalie is hurt because the maroon team's forward kicked his hand. The group bargained to trade Knight and the other hostages for the return of their leader.—Ah, so it wasn't for money after all.—Faye is trying to convince Sarah to help her. The play is declared as an offside so there is no point for the maroon team. The trade was made successfully. It's Jessica that ends up helping Faye. Knight promises to continue enforcing his anti-drug smuggling agenda. Jessica finishes cleaning the cereal from the floor. Faye closes the cabinet. The game ends two to one in the maroon team's favor.

My mind suddenly goes blank.

I blink and look away from the television. I close my eyes and take a few breaths before carefully resting my back on the couch. I open my eyes, slowly gazing around the texture of the ceiling…What was it I just read?

I touch my right shoulder lightly with the palm of my hand.

"Is it still bothering you?" Faye asks from the kitchen. But at the moment, I'm so distracted that I don't even realize whom she is speaking to. A few seconds pass before she adds angrily, "Bastard, who do you think I'm talking to?"

I glare at her first, still running my left hand over my shoulder, "…it's just itching some."

"Do something about it," Faye says sternly. "It's annoying to see you being so fidgety."

"Should we go to the hospital…?" Jessica asks uncertainly from behind her glass of wine.

"What for?" Faye responds, "You think he'll die from something like this? It's just a waste of money."

"…It's fine," I say relaxing my back. "Besides, the medicine I took has already taken most of the pain away."

Yes, that's right. This I can stand. This is a sting I can get used to. My skin being constantly itchy and hot. It's not the fact that it hurts. It's the discomfort that's the issue. The discomfort that makes me anxious. And the anxiety that keeps mounting up on top of itself to the extent that I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore.

That's it.

I'm over thinking.

I close my eyes and rest my head on the back of the couch.

I should stop. Stop thinking. Stop worrying. I just need to let it pass. Just time and it'll be okay. Just. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop. And I use it as a mantra. Repeating it over and over again until I lose consciousness.

I don't dream, but slowly, something crawls into my sleep. A ringing…a distant ringing—No. A ringing near me. A ringing with by far the most annoying tone I've ever heard.

My eyes shoot open.

It's blurry. And I blink. And the ringing is still there. And my head is heavy.

"You woke up?"

Slowly, I sit up. I hold my head, my eyes closed. The ringing stops. I sigh and look up. That's right, what did Faye say just now? I blink again and look across to the dining table.

Faye is sitting on a short chair and Sarah's standing in front of her, leaning forward so that I can't actually see Faye's face. Then, Sarah picks up something from a box full of scissors and combs and clips and other things I either don't know or can't make out. I lean forward to try and see what she's doing to Faye. Sarah finally moves a bit to the side and I realize that she's cutting Faye's hair.

"Stop staring," Faye says bluntly when she catches my sight.

I don't look away, "…Why would anyone cut their hair at this hour?" Or rather, I would like to ask why she's cutting her hair to begin with.

Sarah laughs, "No, this is totally my fault. It's easily been over a month since she's asked me to do it but I hadn't had the chance to.—Jess, hand me that." And Jessica does as instructed before stepping onto the opposite side of the table. "She's been threatening to go get it done with my rival and I can't quite let that happen. So this was just as good a chance as any."

Jessica rests her arms on the table and yawns. "But still, it's such a shame."

"It's me that should be sad," Faye says as Sarah continues to arrange her hair. "But you've seen how annoying it's to keep up with it. I don't have either the time or money to be dealing with it."

Jessica pouts, "If you put it that way…I totally understand that long hair really is a luxury…And there's also times I want to chop my it off really, really short…but—Eric doesn't like girls with short hair."

"Are you still waiting on Eric?" Sarah says incredulously, "That bastard is as slow as a baby. If you really want him to pay attention to you, you should just jump him already!"

"Stop staring," Faye tells me again. "Just go back to sleep."

"Why?" I ask, "This is entertaining."

She rolls her eyes and looks away, intermittently avoiding my sight until her haircut is finished.

In comparison to how I had seen it yesterday, it really is short. It fell midway between her shoulders and chin; her bangs smoothly angled over her face…Somehow, there was a certain edge to it.

"Okay," Sarah says, "you can go look at it now."

I watch as Faye anxiously makes her way into the bedroom. I smirk. What's the point of being so worried now that it'd been cut? It's not like she can glue her hair back on if she doesn't like it.

"Hey, Sarah," Jessica asks, "Can you trim my bangs?"

"Sure. But you have to help me carry all of this back."

That's right. How did all of that end up here?

"Fine, I'll help."

"What's with that bratty tone?" Sarah says, "It's only one flight of stairs down."

Catching this, I quickly ask, "You live here?"

Sarah motions Jessica to sit down. "Yeah, didn't I say that already?" She picks up a comb. "...No, I guess I didn't. But. Yeah, that's why I wanted to catch a ride with you guys in the first place."

At this, I sneer and decide not to mention that she didn't bother to pay for her part of the fare.

"So do you live here too?" I ask Jessica.

"No." And in between breaks of Sarah cutting her hair, she mumbles, "I live in a neighborhood…next to the ramen place…the one from earlier…I've known the lady…that owns it…ever since I was little so—"

And then there's the ringing again.

"Damn it Ryan!" Sarah yells, "I'm cutting hair right now." She looks around desperately, somehow maintaining her hands completely still, until she spots her communicator. "Spike, can you answer that?"

"Me?"

"Yeah, just tell him I'm busy. Otherwise it's going to drive me crazy and he'll keep calling."

It rings a couple of times too many for it to be a regular call.

"Tell him she's cutting my hair," Jessica adds.

I wonder if it's something important…I'm too tired still so I don't over think it. I stand from the couch and answer.

"…Yeah…" I hear a man's voice. A bit gruff and husky. "Is Sarah around?"

"She's busy cutting Jessica's hair."

"Can you tell her…Nevermind, just let her know I'll call her back in a couple of minutes." And once he finishes speaking, he promptly ends the call.

I place the phone down and when I tell Sarah the message, she laughs.

"Watch he'll call in exactly fifteen minutes."

It's then Faye steps out of the bedroom. She states with certainty, "I like it."

"Of course you do," Sarah says confidently, "I cut it didn't I?"

And then the conversation becomes a list of the many possibilities in which Faye can arrange her hair now. I take that as a cue and I turn back to the television; this time I tune in to the weather. By watching, I realize that it's nearly nine.—Did anyone other than me even sleep?—And, according to the forecast, the heat from yesterday was due to a storm front that would be hitting late tonight or tomorrow.

As they talk, Faye, Jessica, and Sarah move about carefully arranging the items back into the box, sweeping the floor, putting things back in order. Fifteen minutes pass quickly and, exactly as Sarah had predicted, her communicator rings.

She smiles while picking up the communicator. She answers and after the usual formalities, she says seriously, "Yes, of course he's still here," and she walks away into Faye's room, closing the door behind her.

I hear Jessica snicker quietly, "Oh, she's in trouble now."

I glance at Jessica—and at Faye who seems a bit confused—before turning back to the television. But Sarah is speaking loudly and we can easily hear her conversation.

"Do I like him?" She says, "He's that type that's easy for me to fall for, so of course I like him!"

"She's talking about you," Jessica says to me.

What exactly did that mean?

I face her, but it's Faye who captures my attention. She's standing crossed armed, with a vague expression on her face. She scoffs, or seems to scoff, "What did you do?"

"Nothing," I state aloofly.

But Jessica clarifies, "He answered her phone."

I unconsciously click my tongue. This woman clearly has issues with remaining silent.

Faye shifts her attention to Jessica for a second before addressing me again. "What for?" Questioning me in a tone that appears to emphasize the humor she finds in my lack of tact.

I don't know why I even bother, but I respond. "Her phone was ringing and she told me to answer it." I say, "So I did."

"Since when are you so obedient?"

I smirk, "Obedient?" I don't even know why I did it. If anything, it was…empathy. Empathy for the guy on the other side of the line. For the guy who could be worried sick—and who is, as a matter of fact, even worse off now. "…I was tired of hearing that stupid ringing that woke me up." Not a lie necessarily, but simply an easy way out of the situation.

Then the door to Faye's bedroom slams open. "No! It's not like that at all." Sarah says, "He's Faye."

And without stating the obvious, it's clear that she is still referring to me. We fall silent quite abruptly and the emptiness manages to make me anxious again.

"Here," Sarah says extending the communicator towards me. "You tell him."

Nothing could have had prepared me for that.

I reflexively glance at Faye and, to my luck, she realizes it immediately. She catches my sight and there's something about the way she's staring that keeps our vision absolutely locked together. Her face is completely neutral. But her eyes. Clearly, she is enjoying this awkward situation.

She nods her head ever so slightly, but with enough intent that she's practically stating, "You said it so easily before. Go on, do it again," in the most sarcastic tone possible.

This is a direct challenge.

I don't even think about it. I make it a point to hide any single trace of doubt and clearly state, "I'm Faye's."

And I see it. With our sight connected, I catch every single shift in the emotion of her eyes…But unfortunately, if I could summarize everything, it is a general uncertainty.

No. It isn't hard to say that I'm Faye's. But hearing the statement echo in my ears as I catch Faye's reaction makes me suddenly aware of exactly what it is that I've stated. And if anything, I feel guilty for claiming so much.

But I don't think either Jessica or Sarah notice just how uncomfortable it is now. As soon as I've finished speaking, Sarah turns to Faye, "Now you say it."

"Yeah, Ryan. He's mine!" And she says it so easily it annoys me. Not at all with a pinch of honesty, but much more like a line being delivered as part of an amateur play.

"See," Sarah says into the communicator. "What? Why? Even Jess is here."

"Hi, Ryan!" Jessica screams.

"No…," Sarah says speaking into the communicator again. "Yeah, I'm done. I'm about to head out. Today? Really?...Because of the storm?" And for the first time in the conversation she sounds glad, "How long are you staying?...Yeah, definitely!...No, I'm not mad. I'll make you breakfast!...It's fine, you were just worried right?..." She smiles, "Love you too." When she hangs up. She smiles. And she sighs. "Monogamous relationships are hard!"

"I told you so," Faye says shortly.

"Ah, but it's weird that it's wrong if you like someone else. I mean, can't you flirt a little? Isn't it fine as long as you don't fuck them?"

Faye laughs. "As if that would work."

"Just be glad Ryan is so nice," Jessica murmurs. "Besides, you're the one that agreed to date him. And you knew he didn't want an open relationship like the others."

"—But," Sarah turns to me, "isn't it even harder for guys? To just think about that one person, I mean. Shouldn't he understand better?"

I frown slightly, "I don't think I'm the right person to answer that."

"Why?" It's Jessica who asks.

Because a man who foolishly clings to one woman can't be expected to defend anyone who would do otherwise.

"Aren't you going?" Faye asks Sarah. "Didn't you say you were going to cook breakfast for Ryan?"

"That's right!" Sarah says in realization. She walks towards the table to pick her things up. "I better get going. Jess, help me out."

Jessica's attention shifts and she finally looks away from me. "Fine," she answers rolling her eyes.

And a little relief weaves through my body.

But after seeing Jessica's resistance, Sarah says, "You know, since Ryan and Eric are in the same convoy, they'll both be back in today."

And immediately, Jessica's eyes light up. "…So?"

"They're good friends. So I figured I could invite him over for breakfast…and you know, maybe you'd be around by chance too."

"Yes!" Jessica squeals, "Yes, please!"

"Alright then," Sarah says, "it's settled! But first help me carry these things. And be careful with them!"

Jessica smiles sheepishly, "Yes, meam!"

After picking up all of Sarah's things, they leave unceremoniously. And Faye and I are alone again for the first time in what seems like forever.

As soon as the door closes, Faye sighs and slumps her body over the back of the couch. "They wear me out fast."

I watch her cross her arms and rest her head over them as she closes her eyes. It takes me a second, but I ask, "Did you even sleep?"

"Yeah." She says nodding towards the coffee table. "I slept over there." And I realize that the pillows next to the table are arranged in a kind of 'L' shape. "Jess and Sarah took over my bed. We probably fell asleep just a bit after you." She stands up and stretches. "Ah…I don't think it was enough…They're night people. The kind that wake up at six in the afternoon and fall asleep at ten in the morning…" She exhales as she brings her arms down again, "Obviously I'm not suited for that anymore."

And then, as if on cue, I yawn.

"And clearly neither are you."

I cover my mouth as I finish yawning, leaning forward on the couch while sitting with my elbows on my knees. "What time is it now?"

"Whatever time it is, it's too early still," she says walking around the couch. She stops when she's next to me, standing silently for a second. When I look up to face her, she says, "Let me see your back."

"It's fine," I answer quickly but calmly. I stand up, "I better get going anyway."

"Is it going to kill you to show me?"

"Is it going to kill you not to see?" I say while trying to walk around her.

But she steps in my way and says, "After claiming you're mine, shouldn't I be able to at least ask this much from you?"

"…I'm not yours…"

She looks up and meets my gaze, almost immediately looking away towards my right shoulder. "…I know…but…"

I try to step forward but Faye doesn't move. "Just show me."

"You're not responsible for it, so don't worry about it."

"I don't care if I'm responsible or not," she answers facing me. "I know you can take care of it yourself and I've tried to ignore it for the most part, but I won't feel at ease until I check."

How should I take that?

I lose control and can't do anything but wonder what to make of her words. Is it worry? Guilt? And I end up staring at her, hoping that if I can get her to look away, I'll be allowed to leave without saying anything else. And more importantly, I won't have to face her with these complicated feeling until I've figured something out for myself. But for someone who couldn't maintain eye contact with me a few seconds prior, she does incredibly well and manages to keep her sight stable even after half a minute of silence has passed.

And in the end, it's me who feels awkward. As in incredibly awkward in the sense of being overpowered.

I click my tongue, break our sight, and sit on the couch.

Faye doesn't move from where she's standing.

I exhale and begin to unbutton my shirt half-unwillingly still, feeling more insecure with every button I unfasten. And Faye must have noticed this too because she keeps her distance. Or at least until I start to slide the shirt off of my shoulders—which really doesn't make things any better. But it's then she walks behind me and pulls the shirt down so that I don't have to stretch the skin over my back.

"It's worse than I thought," she says a bit quietly.

I stare at my shoulder; the skin is visibly irritated but there aren't any blisters and it doesn't feel as tight and dry as some severe sunburns I've had before. "It's not all that bad," I say and turn away.

"But it's still a bit red," Faye says lightly placing her finger on the nape of my neck.

And with just that, she sends my skin crawling.

A moment passes and she snickers, "You've got goose bumps."

As if I needed to hear that. This bit manages to make me self-conscious and I end up muttering, "You know you have cold hands."

But this is clearly the wrong statement.

Her hands crossed tightly over my face, she says brusquely, "What's wrong with having cold hands!"

I don't answer immediately and I feel her hands jerk in place. They rest over my features momentarily, but then begin to move away uncertainly.

If she wanted to touch me. If she wanted to hit me. If she wanted to hold me. If she wanted to push me away. I wish Faye would just honestly do what she wanted. If she did that much. Maybe then I'd be free from the purgatory of her hidden intentions.

But with her is always push and pull.

And I see the light peeking in as her laced fingers move apart.

But what am I doing? Now that her relationship with Damian is over, doesn't that mean that I'm free to do what I want? But is it even over? It is, isn't it?—That's intimidating.—So…is it okay? Her fingers sliding off my jaw. Can I even do anything? It's fine, isn't it? It's fine!

And I catch her hands.

I feel her jolt.

If it's push and pull, it's because we've made it that way. Because we've never tried to act any other way. Because it's the only way we've gotten used to dealing with each other. Because we've never tried to change anything.

It's fine.

But even knowing that, it's incredibly difficult to do. I have to talk myself through it and honestly convince myself that there's nothing wrong. And so slowly, much too slowly to be considered spontaneous, I place her hands on my neck.

I look down and it takes me another good second or two after that, but I manage to say, "Nothing's wrong…they feel good…"

I really wish I could turn around and see her expression. But at the moment, I'm much too concerned with keeping myself relatively composed. And when she doesn't seem to give any response, my determination begins to falter; the pulsations of my heartbeat are heavy and end with a sharp pang that grows in intensity alongside my doubt.

"…It's because you're burnt…," Faye says quietly, her hands gently fitting between my own and my neck. "…so you probably have a bit of a fever…"

And I experience a sense of relief unlike any in years. I regain the evenness of breath and my chest fills with a relaxed air.

It's unexpectedly comfortable. To hear that much from her, to do this much, it doesn't feel like it's something completely outside of our range. It feels right, but I'm also aware that everything is still too muddled for it to last much longer than what it already has. So, I pat her hands once and slide my own away.

"That may be part of it."

Faye lifts her hands away from my neck, not at all hurriedly, but neither too slowly. "We should have breakfast so you can take more pain killers."

"It's fi—" I catch myself falling into my old habits. As expected, even if it's not something outside of our range, I'm completely unsure as to how much I should, and am allowed to, deviate from our established relationship.

"I don't feel like cooking," Faye says as if she'd never heard me. "We're just eating cereal."

And so we do.

We sit at the dining table next to each other, eating some sort of bland bran I'm sure is intended to be part of a weight loss program.

At first we don't say much, but our conversation begins to build up slowly. After we go through a minute or two of small talk, Faye asks me about how Ed and Jet are doing. I tell her as much as I know and then she asks me if I've had good luck with jobs recently. I have. And this question becomes the perfect gateway for me to ask her a little about her current situation.

She tells me that for a while she was unstable and that she wasn't having much luck with bounties. After a few weeks of struggling to get by, she decided to take up a part-time job at a bar she frequented. She tells me it's not too hard, so she hasn't left the job because the pay is much too good for the amount of work she actually does. We laugh a little at this and she continues telling me that eventually she managed to find a good combination of working at the bar and bounty hunting; so much so that she could easily afford rent and other necessities while still managing to splurge from time to time. Or at least that was in a good week. In a bad week, she says, it's just about enough without any luxuries, like taxi rides. And nowhere in her conversation does she ever mention that the possibility of returning to the Bebop ever crossed her mind.

Faye talks a lot and, although she gives me quite a detailed account, she somehow manages to avoid any mention of Damian.

I might have expected to feel relived by this, but considering the situation, the fact that he's not even a passing subject bothers me. No. It's not that I want to talk about him. But neither do I want to half-assedly pretend that he is someone that has, like it or not, nothing to do with how she and I have ended up eating some disgusting cereal in some apartment in a part of Mars I have never had a remote interest in visiting…I can't be the only one that thinks that way, right?

I glance at Faye.

But as she speaks, there really aren't any discernible expressions of her purposely trying to mask anything at all. Honestly, it doesn't even seem like she had been anxiously searching for him hours before.

And I have a horrible realization.

…It's only me…I'm the only one who's obsessing over it.

Whatever her reason had been. Whatever her intent. Those were things of last night. At some point either when she had fallen asleep or woken up, the things she had been so secretive about had become things that she couldn't be bothered with anymore.

Did that mean she didn't care all that much? But if that had been the case, why not tell me about it? Why go searching for him to begin? I feel there is something missing to make sense of it. And this makes me unsure what really is the truth of the matter.

I get so frustrated I can't keep eating. I want to ask her. Even more so than last night. I want to know.

Faye clicks her tongue. "Even if you make that face, I'm not giving you anything else to eat."

I quickly try to relax my features. I scoff a bit and ask, "What is this anyway?"

"It's supposed to help digestion, perfect for an old man like yourself."

"If it's supposed to help digestion, how come you've gained weight?"

She stares at me angrily, "How rude can you be? You're not supposed to talk about a woman's weight."

I smirk, "Ah, is that so? My bad then."

"Oh, because that sounds so honest. I'm already mad at you, getting thinner while I get fatter—no. Actually, you've gotten too thin. And even if I've gained weight, it's not like I look deformed or anything. I could easily gain more weight and still look fine. You should be the one—"

She pauses and I can make out the ringing of her communicator inside the bedroom. She gets up from the table and answers. But she doesn't come back to finish what little she has left on her bowl. Instead, I hear the sound of water in the shower.

I finish my cereal and loiter around in the living room for a few minutes. When Faye steps out of her room, she's dressed in a similar fashion as I had seen her yesterday, her hair still damp, makeup on her face. She walks to the entrance as she finishes buttoning up her shirt, flinging a light sweater over her shoulders. She seems in a rush, slipping her boots on without zipping them up as she says, "I have to go fill in for someone."

I assume this is her way of telling me to leave, so I stand up from the couch and reach for my shirt laying on its arm.

"I'll be back around two," she says quickly as she opens the door. I stop mid-motion. When she notices she has my attention, she continues, "So shower and wash your clothes before I get back. Feel free to sleep on my bed—the clean sheets are in the dryer." She nearly closes the door. "Make sure to lock this so you won't be bothered." And then she's gone.

I stand in place, stuck in between the motion of a forward step. I shift my gaze and watch her shadow walk by the closed blinds of the front window. But not a step. Not one.

I panic.

As if she would never return to her apartment. As if she'd leave there standing. Waiting forever. As if I would never catch a glimpse of her again.

It's a hollowness. A bitter air that crawls from my extremities up to my core. And it jolts me awake.

Forward. I dash reaching for the door, slamming it open and running to the stairs.

And I see Faye with her sight fixated on the ground, her half-zipped boots clattering as she stammers up clumsily.

I step down to meet her, but the cold metal of the stairs reminds me that I'm barefoot. I vocalize a weird grunt and Faye looks up, finally realizing that I'm there.

My name airily escapes her. She slows down as she continues trudging up the stairs. "Spike," she says again.

I'm caught up in the momentum and, despite the bitter metal on my feet, I meet her halfway.

We pause for a second. "Weren't you going?" It's the only thing that I can say without awkwardly reminding myself that I'm the one running after her.

"I am," she says, "but I forgot…" Faye looks down just then. "…Your shoes…" She meets my sight, "Why aren't you wearing them?...And it's cold. Aren't you cold?"

As if I wasn't self-conscious enough.

"…It skipped my mind…" I exhale, "Anyway, you forgot something too, right?"

Her sight wonders around a bit. "Food," she answers hastily. "I'll be a little late, but I'll bring lunch. So, just wait for me to get back."

I smirk, a certain tepid sensation carrying over me. "Sure, I'll wait."

"But what did you think? Running outside barefoot and shirtless when it's getting this chilly."

"It's not like I'm naked so it's fine." I pause for a second. "I was thinking the same." Or at least I'd like to think it was…I glance down. "Stay still." And I kneel to zip up her boots.

"You don't have to—"

"You'll trip down the stair otherwise," I state pulling the zippers in place. "And then who's going to bring me food?" I stand up and begin walking back. "I suck at cooking. You obviously have no interest in making anything for me. I don't know where I'm at. And I don't think I could take another meal of that disgusting cereal."

"For a guest, you're very picky."

"Pretty well suited for a host who leaves her guest so suddenly."

"Fine, fine," she says fleetingly as she descends the stairs. "I'll be back soon, so enough of that."

I wave back, "Work hard."

I hear her chuckling as she turns the corner of the third floor. "Coming from you, it feels like an insult."

*** * * Ch. 12 End, Continued on Ch.13 * * ***

* * *

><p>Sorry for the long hiatus, I'll try my best to update quickly, but unfortunately I cannot make any promises other than this story will definitely not be dropped.<p>

I hope you guys can understand. I am extremely thankful for everyone's support and patience.

_NonMetallicMetal_


	13. Sparks

_Please enjoy._

*** * * Ch. 13 – Sparks (Coldplay) * * ***

* * *

><p>It doesn't feel like a stranger's home. Locking the door and realizing that I'm alone in her apartment, that doesn't feel strange either. Clearly, it isn't like returning to the Bebop. But neither is it the hostile sensation of entering a waiting room you'd hope to visit once in your lifetime.<p>

I carefully step just inside of Faye's apartment door, looking around, trying to mull and decode the sensation. It's serene—not a cold, empty feeling—a bit intriguing. Something akin to a sense of familiarity and excitement…And I suppose a sense of danger too.

I glance at the window and instinctively wonder how long it will be before Faye returns. I walk across the living room and pick up my coat, digging through the pockets to find my communicator. It's ten and a quarter…so I have around four hours to kill before she gets back.

I ruffle my hair trying to figure out what to do in that span of time. But I realize a greasy sensation on my fingertips and I recognize the stink of sweat and ramen. And that much convinces me that I should shower first.

I make sure to lock the front door before walking towards Faye's bedroom. When I step into the room, the lights are off. I palm around trying to find the light switch, but I don't feel or see anything and I stop when my fingers graze a coat hanging on the wall. In any case, the door to the bathroom is slightly open and the lights there are on, so I give up without hesitation.

From the state of things in the bathroom, it's clear to see that Faye had left in a rush. The vent is still humming above me. A towel is barely hanging on the doorknob and a second has already slipped to the ground. Her clothes are on the floor, piled up messily in a corner next to the bathtub. The mist is stuck to the walls and the fog is still clinging to the mirror.

No matter where, being in her apartment, it feels like an atmosphere altogether different.

I can't get used to it. The odd sensation of being there. It's because this is Faye's home. Not the room she uses on occasion or the space she shares with someone else. For once, this is Faye's living area. Completely. And it makes me hyperconscious of everything, mundane as it may be.

So I stand in place for a few seconds at a time, inspecting my surrounding with extreme scrutiny. Moving on to the next section only when I feel that there is nothing else to be seen. All the meanwhile expecting to find the outlier that can give me an edge in understanding who Faye is today.

But it doesn't even take me a minute to look around. After all, it's not like I'm willing to go so far as to open cabinets and drawers unnecessarily. But really, it's just the same things that we have back at the Bebop, if a little more feminine.—Not to say that it's all pearls and lace necessarily, though no doubt that would suit Faye well too.

After I'm through with the inspection, I use the mouthwash Faye's left open next to the sink and remind myself that I need a toothbrush. Then, I undress, toss my clothes next to the pile Faye has already started, and step into the bathtub. It takes me a few seconds to figure out how the shower works. But I let the water run down to the bathtub first, adjusting the temperature so that I won't aggravate any of the damaged skin on my body. When I find something that feels right, I let the water run up the shower and hold my breath.

But it feels great. I exhale, glad that I've not scalded myself for a second time. Instead, the water seems to moisten the areas where my skin has been dry and tight. And the section between my shoulder and nape, which has been feverish even after taking medicine, is for once pleasantly cooled.

I spend a good fifteen minutes with my back against the water before I even decide to wash my hair and body. Afterwards, I spend another good fifteen doing the same until I finally convince myself to shut the water off.

Unfortunately, the effects of the scald become apparent again rather quickly. I grimace as the skin over my back tightens and the unpleasant warmth of my neck returns. I sigh, letting the remaining streams of water run down the drain. I reach out of the shower for the only towel left on the towel rack, pat myself dry, and wrap the towel around my waist before stepping out.

I look down at my pile of clothes and, for the first time, I realize that it's the only set I have with me. I think for a second, clicking my tongue as I wonder what I should do. It doesn't take me long to realize that, since there's enough time for me to wash and dry the clothes before Faye returns, it's really not an issue.

I reach down to pick my clothes. In the motion, the skin of my back stretches and it stings. I stand up promptly, carrying my clothes under my arm, and walk towards the sink looking for the body lotion I'd seen during my earlier inspection.

Once I spot it, I set my clothes next to the sink and try my best to carefully moisturize my back. Except, Faye's lotion smells like cherry blossoms and it feels weird to keep adding these scented things one on top of the other. I had expected to use the orchid scented shampoo and conditioner just as much as I had the pomegranate body wash, but I hadn't really considered anything else after that. The lotion is very fragrant, and in the end, I refrain from using it any more than I have to.

I lift my clothes, glance at Faye's pile next to the bathtub, and pick up my coat and shirt from the living room before walking to the area behind the kitchen. As I had suspected, the washer and dryer are there, as is a large rack holding many of Faye's clean clothes. The washer is empty and I put all of my dark clothes in first. But as the barrel begins to fill with water, it feels like a waste to wash so little at a time and I end up throwing everything in at once. I look for the detergent, add it in, and start the washer rather easily.

I watch an infomercial program for some useless cooking product while I wait, and stand up from the couch only when I realize the washer isn't running anymore. I make my way to the laundry area and open up the dryer. I had nearly forgotten that the sheets to Faye's bed were there. I pull them out and sit them on top of the machine before placing my clothes in and starting a new dry cycle. I carry the sheets to Faye's bed and let them fall on top of the mattress before returning to the couch.

But as it turns out, I can't find anything to watch. The news only repeat the same information I'd read about Damian last night. The other shows on television are either too boring or too obnoxious. And it doesn't help that some pesky weather announcement shows up every so often. So, I turn the television off altogether and decide to make Faye's bed as a means to kill time.

I re-adjust the towel around my waist before trying to find the light switch of her bedroom again. But my second attempt doesn't end any differently than the first and I have to rely on the bathroom light to see what I'm doing.

I pull off the sheets from her bed and begin setting the clean ones in place. As I move the sheets, I notice that whatever soap Faye uses has a distinct clean and light scent not quite as forced as the detergent we use at the Bebop. The sheets are soft and the down comforter is cool to the touch. I pass my hands over the fabric, fixing the wrinkles and setting the corners in place. When I look around for the pillows, the only two I can find in the room are clearly not part of the dark grey and purple arabesque set. I pick them from the ground and walk back to the living room. I toss them over the couch among the mismatch of other pillows where they seem to belong best. And it doesn't take me long to realize that Faye's L-shaped barricade is actually composed of the pillows that belong on her bed.

I lift all of the pillows at once. They're bulkier than I had expected, and my face ends up buried in them. It would be a lie to say that I don't stop for a second just to recognize that the scent of Faye's hair is imbued in their textile. My back burns too. And I can't tell if the heat on my face is still a fever or a result of my sudden embarrassment. And it's exactly because of this that I'm severely reminded of my current relationship with Faye.

I sigh heavily onto the pillows. I can't tell anymore whether I'm doing these little things unconsciously or not. And not only that. What would Faye think—what does she think about this mindset of mine? Because it's not like she doesn't know. Or maybe she's trying to ignore it. Or perhaps. Perhaps she's already forgotten.

I stumble my way back to her bedroom and drop the pillows into place. I pull off the shams matching the old sheets' pattern and replace them with the clean set.

The way I see Faye now. How long had it been since that began? I can't even pinpoint when it had happened. Not the moment I realized it. Not the moment I believed it myself. Not the moment I began trying to avoid facing up to it.

I mean, even today, I purposely ignored her clothes and used towels from the bathroom floor when picking them up and taking them to the laundry room would have taken little to no effort…All of this just so I could save myself the headache…And because of some pillows I'm suffocated by the guilt of thinking about her?—It's disappointing. Had I known it was going to end up this way anyway, I would've rather touched her silk camisole.

Well, whatever. I guess some things really can't be helped and I should just get used to the idea that I can't stop myself from being conscious of her. I can accept that, right?

I toss the pillows in place and remain standing next to her bed, staring at the patterns of her sheets for a few seconds...Or rather, at this point, isn't it so obvious that I have no other choice but to accept it?

The pit of my stomach feels cold and a sense of personal defeat begins crawling up my limbs. And although I'd finished fixing the sheets moments before, the realization makes my body heavy and I let myself slump on the bed. It's then that the sensation reaches my chest and my hands shiver. I bury my face in the freshly washed sheets, clutching the down of the pillows.

I inhale. I exhale. I let myself lie there in a state of disappointment and stupor. I feel so physically and emotionally drained that I dare not even open my eyes. And before I know it, I fall asleep over her sheets.

"Hey, I've brought lunch." A tug on my hair, it's Faye that wakes me up.

I instinctively dig my face in the blankets, unsure if I should be cursing myself for falling asleep like this on her bed or if I should curse her for rupturing the calm daze I had finally attained. Either way, I'm self-conscious, so I keep my face down, hoping that the warmth of my face doesn't show on my ears.

"What? You're not hungry after all?"

But even if I cover my face, it's not like I can hide from her.

"I'm awake," I say drowsily, rubbing what little sleepiness I have left in my eyes away. And immediately after, my hands jump to my waist where thankfully the towel is still in place. I sit up and hold my head for a bit, watching through Faye's shadow as she leans on the frame of her bedroom door.

"Did you wash your clothes?" she asks.

"…Yeah…they're in the dryer," I say standing up.

"If they're dry, then go change." She says, "I don't need a pervert roaming around in my apartment."

I let her insult slide and don't bother to reply.

I try to walk past her, but she puts her hand up and stops me mid-step, her fingertips hovering a mere centimeter from my chest. It's too abrupt, and I retreat to regain a good sense of space.

"…Is something wrong?" she asks.

The concern in which she says this leaves me at a loss of words and I can barely force myself to ask why.

"You're kind of...thinner...than usual…" She begins awkwardly, "Last time…," but she doesn't finish her sentence. Instead, her lips keep repeating the pattern of saying "last time."

…Ah, I get it. She's not sure whether she has the right to say it or not. "You mean…" and my voice fades before I can finish. I take a breath before starting again. "You mean, last time I lost weight was after Julia passed away." And it's easy to say, so much so that I can't tell if Faye's surprise is caused by the casual tone of my voice or the content of what I've stated. "…That's what you mean, right?"

"...Yeah."

"Actually," I begin, "I hadn't noticed that I'd lost that much weight, or at least enough that someone would notice. Jet hadn't said anything about it. And you know how he is about that."

"Well, I've never seen you this thin before…Or maybe it's because I haven't seen you in a while? I'm not sure. But you do—or did—have the bad habit of forgetting to eat because you were over thinking something. So, at least be aware of that."

That she's realized this. That she seems to be bothered—worried about it. It makes me a bit happy. Even if I try to control myself, a ghost of a smirk crosses my lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

Her hand falls to her side and I step across to the living room, turning towards the laundry area.

"I'm going to switch clothes, so you change over there," she says after me.

I hear the door to her bedroom close and I unconsciously turn back. From underneath the door, I can see a clear streak of light. And I can't help but wonder where that damned light switch is anyway.

I shake my head a couple of times and make my way to the laundry area. I pull my clothes from the dryer and change. It seems that washing everything together didn't do any damage. As I finish buttoning up my shirt, I hear the rustling of paper bags. And a second later, I can smell the scent of food.

Now fully dressed with my coat over my arm, I step back into the kitchen and I see Faye pouring some water into two glasses. She's wearing a loose, red sweater over a white camisole and a pair of light cotton pants. She looks much more relaxed than me. When she notices I'm standing next to her, she stares at me for a while and it's like she reads my mind.

"Are you comfortable in that?" she asks.

"I don't have anything else," I reply. Although in all honesty, I would be grateful to wear something with a looser fit.

She mumbles while contemplating something and I catch her saying "...I guess they should fit."

"What should?"

This much breaks her trance and she answers clearly, "I have some men's clothes you can wear."

"...You're going to give me some guy's hand-me-downs?"

"They're mine." Faye scoffs, "I wear them around the house sometimes." She walks to the coffee table and sits the drinks down. She wipes her palms together, smirking. "It feels kind of weird. I mean, because I was the one who used to borrow your clothes all the time."

"Is that what you call borrowing?" I answer sourly, "I didn't care if you used them or not, but would it have hurt you to at least wash them? I ended up doing it all the time."

"No," she corrects me, "you didn't have the patience to wait. I would've washed them, eventually."

"Eventually, huh?"

"…Anyway, I guess I got used to wearing them from time to time—men's clothes, I mean—so I've bought a couple for myself...I think they should fit you though." She walks around the couch towards her bedroom. "Also," she says more strictly, "believe it or not, everything in here is mine. And only Jennifer and a few of the other girls have come to visit me...Thinking about it, I guess you're the first to make it past the front door, so you should be grateful."

The first?...As in the first...man? I walk after her.

But when I follow her into her room, my attention shifts and I realize that I'm finally seeing the place well lit. Although the things she has have a strong presence, there's not enough there to make the room look crowded or busy.

The bed sits touching the wall parallel to the bathroom door. She doesn't have a headboard, but a large canvas hangs above the bed, a color field painting with dark blue hues and a strong texture. There is nothing to the right of the bed other than the door that leads to the living room. However, on it's left is a nightstand with magazines and a little further a walk-in closet with the doors slightly open. Inside, the light is off, but with the main light of the room, it's possible to see that it's holding plenty of clothes. A standing mirror framed in black hangs on the wall. And next to the mirror is a tall dresser. It's from one of its lower drawers that Faye begins to pull out a couple of things.

As I wait, I glance behind me towards the area where I had felt the coat before. Surely enough, there is a long hanging rack centered in the middle of the wall. It's mostly full, holding anything from purses, to sweaters, umbrellas, and hats. But what catches my eye is the strange way in which the coat closest to the door hangs. The sleeve is skewed, as if it's caught on something.

First, I glance at Faye who is still busy looking through a drawer. Then, I lift the sleeve of the sweater. As it turns out, the light switch is underneath. With my luck, it figures that would be the case. I let the sleeve fall and sit on the bed.

"Here it is," Faye murmurs pulling something from the drawer. She stands up and hands me a pair of navy and green flannel pajama pants. Then, she walks into her closet and quickly finds a light grey tee. She unfolds it and measures the width against my shoulders. "Yeah, this is the one," she confirms and tosses it to my hands. She walks back into the closet and this time emerges holding a lamp. She moves the magazines out of the way and sits the lamp down on the nightstand.

I don't know what look I must have had then, but she says, "Jess broke one already. This one managed to take a fall once, I can't risk the chance that it'll live through another." Then, she kneels down and plugs it in. She promptly stands and walks out of the room, closing the door as she says, "Hurry and change so we can eat."

I do so swiftly—or as quickly as it's possible for me to do without injuring my back any further. When I'm done, I'm pleasantly surprised to find that the clothes she's given me fit well. The band on the pants is even a bit loose. And as for the shirt, the only thing I can complain about is that I'm not used to v-necks. I fold my clothes and sit them on the corner of her bed before stepping out into the living room.

By this time, Faye has begun setting up what seems to be an exorbitant amount of food on the coffee table. "Seriously, I just asked for two," I hear her whispering. "No wonder it was so much to carry."

I walk towards the table and begin pulling a couple of boxes out of a bag Faye's yet to open. I laugh, "This is enough to feed an army."

Faye pauses and stares at me.

"What is it?"

"My clothes look good on you," she says very seriously before turning back to setting the food in place.

I scowl, "Is that supposed to be funny?"

"I could ask you the same," she snaps.

"Alight, fine. But how come you brought so much?"

"I didn't want to. Except Marty wouldn't let me leave anything behind, saying he'd made all of it just for me. I felt bad so I ended up taking it. Will was there too, and he was nice enough to give me a ride and help carry the bags upstairs."

Will, huh?...I open up a box. There's a dozen or so hot wings.

"Did you not hear us?" Faye says unrolling the top of another bag. "Will wanted to come in, but he's so loud."

How common is that name? "…No. I didn't." I look around the coffee table.

"Well, I guess that's good. I thought he might have woken you up."

"No," I mutter, "you were the one."

"I did," she reaffirms. "But Will was being annoying. I know you wouldn't like to be woken up like that."

She's right about that. But is this the same Will that Jennifer kept bringing up yesterday? I hover the open box over the food that's already there. Now that Faye is placing more food, the table's getting crowded. "Hey…"

"What is it?"

Where am I supposed to put this box? "And who's Will anyway?"

"…What?"

"We're low on space, I don't know where to put this."

"No, that's—What do you mean by who is he?"

Wait. What did I ask?—Or I asked?—Fuck.—Why did I ask?—No, I know why I asked.—Rather. What should—No, that's not right either...If I try and escape this little thing I will never figure out what exactly happened with Damian.

Faye takes the box away from my stagnant hands, putting it on the lid of one that's already open.

"You know…" I begin, "does he just hang around Marty's bar or something?"

"He's Marty's nephew actually," she answers quickly. "So, yeah, pretty much. Or at least that's how I met him. He's the same guy that Jess was talking about last night."

"Is that so?" I say reaching for the last box inside the bag.

Faye takes the empty bag from me and begins folding it. "When you say it like that, it's obvious what you're thinking."

"And what is that exactly?"

Faye takes all the empty bags and stands up, walking to the kitchen. "That he's not being genuinely nice, but you know, ulterior motives and all that."

"Well, that's true. But I was actually trying to make up my mind."

"About what?" she says, returning to the living room with a handful of napkins.

"Is it admirable or disgusting?"

Faye sits with her legs crossed, choosing the spot next to me on the coffee table.

"It depends, doesn't it?"

"How so?"

"Ah, well, I don't really have any hard feelings for what happened with Jessica. So, I guess I would call it admirable. More than anything, stupid. But had it been that I felt seriously betrayed, then it would absolutely be disgusting. Anyway enough of that! I'm starving so let's eat."

And we do just that. We begin picking at the food, taking a bit from here and there without really claiming anything as our own. It surprises me how good everything actually is. As bar food, I had expected it to be at its best acceptable.

"It's good, right?" Faye asks me as she reaches for a couple of fries. "Marty's place is famous for it's food too, so there's quite a rush during lunch and dinner hours."

I nod and take a bite from a BLT. "Yeah, I could see how."

We eat silently save for a few words scattered here and there. It feels like no matter how much we consume, the amount of food on the table doesn't decrease. And gradually, we begin picking at the food less and less until we're just sitting on the ground watching television.

The stasis is nice, so much so that we don't bother changing the channel. And before we know it, we're watching a daytime show about couples trying to work out their issues. Apparently, the hostess of the show is a qualified therapist. Though from the looks of her, you'd think she were the one causing the problems.

The first couple to be consulted are two young men who are having issues with their sexual life. The second is a couple of which both parties have children from previous marriages. The third. The third is the one that stands out. The woman is dressed in pale colors, her hair neatly tied into a pony tail. The man dresses well too, or at least much better than I could ever hope to do, and has a gentle expression. They have no apparent problems, good communication, a healthy sexual life. Their issue—to my surprise—is that they're considering breaking off their engagement.

"She's lying," Faye says staring at the screen.

"About what?" I ask, preferring not to say that I think everything is staged to begin with.

"She said she doesn't mind when he's too busy to pay attention to her. That she's fine because she's got a life of her own to worry about. But does that even make sense considering the type of woman she seems to be?"

The type of woman? I turn to the screen and watch for a little longer. By the way she speaks, she sounds confident. And she sits elegantly, as if she were in control of the situation. In comparison to everyone on the set, she really stands out.

"Look at her clothes."

A salmon skirt. A cream shirt. A nude bag and matching shoes. Delicate jewelry.

"They're feminine?"

Faye laughs. "Well, sure. But those are all matching brand name clothes."

"So?"

"It's not right."

She seems really invested in this, but I don't understand at all. I sigh, "I'm not going to get this until you spell it out for me."

"Most women who love brand name clothes choose one piece they really want to show off and tone it down with the rest of their outfit. But, everything she's wearing is from Claude, one of the highest-name brands out there! For anyone who knows a bit about fashion, she totally stands out. So, it's not that she doesn't like attention. It's that she actually loves it! Saying she doesn't mind that her fiancé doesn't pay attention to her is totally bullshit."

I smirk. Seeing Faye get all worked up about a show is amusing. And it's even better that she remains as excited through the rest of the air time.

When the program concludes, couple one agrees to visit a sex therapist, couple two breaks up to avoid stressing their children, and couple three remains without much of a resolution.

As the end credits start rolling, Faye begins closing the boxes of the leftovers and stacking them together. She pushes them to the opposite end of the table and stretches her legs. She crosses her arms on the table and lays her head down.

"That was fun," she says. "It's nice to forget your own problems for a while..."

We sit in silence for a few moments, letting her words hang in the air.

But there's more to it than just that. I feel that there's definitely more. However, no matter how much I twist my brain, I can't find the right way to approach her. I feel ridiculous, feeling this concerned yet being unable to do anything at all.

I mimic her posture so that we can see each other evenly. "At least you get to eat good food. I don't think I can see cupped ramen anymore without becoming depressed."

"It is good, isn't it?" Faye replies smiling. She closes her eyes, "I'm tired. Are you still tired?"

"A bit."

"How's your back?" she asks, her voice already becoming drowsy.

"Better."

"Did the shower help?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see there's aloe vera gel inside the cabinet?"

"No, I didn't look. I used your lotion though."

She chuckles quietly. "So that's why."

"What's that?"

"I keep thinking weird things, like, "Spike smells just like me.'" And then she laughs.

I feel a jolt in my chest and I sit up. Really, Faye? If you're aware it's weird, don't say it so easily like that.

She bites her lips and turns her face, her forehead pressed to the table. "Spike…"

"What now?" I ask a bit annoyed since I can barely make out what she's saying.

She's silent for a moment longer before she speaks. "...Let me kiss you."

I fixate my sight on her wondering if I've heard correctly.

Honestly, there's no way I could stop at only doing that much. But, no matter how I try to deceive myself, I can't find a way around it. Something doesn't feel right at all.

Even after a while, Faye doesn't repeat herself and I feel that I probably heard right after all.

"No," I answer without another thought.

Faye clicks her tongue, rolling her head on the table so that she's facing me again, "Somehow that's hard to hear coming from a guy with a history of sleeping around with married women."

"I'm not a saint...you're the one who said that."

She laughs, "But you've been so well behaved lately. You were even giving such a cool 'I'm not interested' vibe when the girls were with us." She stands up, stretching her arms over her head. "But that's good though. That's how Spike should be."

"...What?"

"Well, you know...my impression of you or something like that?"

She stares at me as if expecting a response.

"I don't know." I say, "I'm the one who asked."

"Well, whatever..." She pauses for a minute, "Before I forget, Jet called me earlier."

"What for?" I ask, not realizing until it's too late that she's already changed the topic.

"He was checking in on us. He'd heard that the front was changing its trajectory closer towards us, so he was worried... He asked me to keep you here until it passes."

"Seriously? I was thinking of heading back before it got too late. I mean, this thing can't be that serious?"

"I don't know how hard it'll hit, but it's moving kind of slow so maybe that's the problem...You can talk to Jet about it if you want, but he made me promise to keep you here, so don't go wandering off."

I click my tongue.

"I'm going to take a nap, so you can watch television or whatever."

"It's fine," I say clicking the monitor off, "there's nothing interesting to watch anyway,"

And before I know it, I'm left alone in her living room, still sitting next to the coffee table, doing nothing.

I lean back carefully and rest my head on the couch with my eyes closed. The air seems to be hanging still. Even the tick-tock of the clock isn't enough to pollute the quietness. And so I sit there, listening to the muffled sounds of my heartbeat and the humming of the wind outside.

"My impression of you…" my lips mouth without my consent. I blink my eyes open and sigh before closing them again.

But as time passes, it becomes clearer and clearer. This is bothering me.

There was something about the way she said it. The words she chose. Even the tone. I can't help myself from repeating it. There's just something not right.

I throw my arm over my eyes to keep me locked in this daze.

What is it that she actually wanted to say? What is it that she wanted me to do? What is it that she was expecting of me?

But I get nothing.

I've had my fair share of this, loss of sense, if it could be called. It's easy for me to accept it...But. This once. Just this once. I don't want to just take it as is.

I move my arm away from my face and stand up slowly, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the light again.

My limbs are stiff. The core of my body is cold. And my mind is foggy.

Even if her room is a mere meter or two away, I feel like I will never reach it. Every step feels like an impossibility. But I fixate my eyes to the grain of the door to keep myself in motion. Before I know it, I'm close enough that I can lay my palm flat on the wood. And the anxiety takes over.

What is it exactly that I'm trying to achieve? I can't answer such a thing. It's not that it's hard to explain. Or that I don't want to admit it...I simply don't know.

If I were to attempt and explain it. It would be that I want to try...that I'm really trying.

But I. No, without a doubt. I'm afraid.

I don't know when it happened that she became such a figure in my life. The type of person I'm reluctant to lose by messing up. Someone I need to keep even if only as a vague presence.

So it's impossible not to be a bit fearful. And to shy away from that which I don't know.

Because regardless of my personal interest in her, I would rather have an uncertain acknowledgment from her part than the jarring distinction of being pushed away by her hands.

I'm aware that it's my responsibility. Without a good reason, I'm wanting to find that which, in the past, I had dismissed without the least sense of remorse. It's my fault that I'm still hoping to find the thread wavering in the air and grasp it.

I lift my hand away from the door and close it tightly, my nails digging into my palm.

Maybe it's that it's been too long since then and now I'm trying to clutch it too tightly. Too suddenly. Too forcefully...Or maybe, it's that there is no thread to hold onto anymore.

I force my arms to relax until they're at my sides.

If I said I should give up...would that even make sense? For me, who hasn't tried to pursue more than I am given from her, would that even be possible? Because from the beginning, isn't it that I've already given up?

I take a step back.

I've already given up. The current me—standing next to her bedroom door, hoping for I don't know what—this current me has already given up.

My skin crawls.

To that extent. When did it become like that? To the extent that giving up wasn't an option I could make anymore.

It paralyzes me. The thought that I had somehow become someone like this without noticing it. That I had changed without realization. That I would be so trapped within myself.

A frothing sharpness builds in my core. I face the windows. The door.

I want to run away.

And I desperately begin searching the areas around me with my sight. For my communicator. For my keys. For my wallet. For my shoes. For my clothes.

But I realize much too quickly, escaping from this is impossible. Even if I could physically run away, I'm certain these thoughts would haunt me regardless of location.

I take a deep breath and my lips itch for a cigarette. The urge forces momentum into my body and prompts me to reach for the pack sitting on the dining table. I place a cigarette on my lips as quickly as possible and scramble to find my lighter.

I flick the wheel only once and inhale. Drag after drag, I feel myself regaining some control. But even then, I can't get rid of it. It seems this anxiousness won't disappear so easily after all.

As the cigarette continues to burn, I notice the ashes collecting on the tip. I hold it steadily between my fingers and look for an ashtray. To my surprise, there isn't a single one in sight. It's strange. But as I think about it, I realize that I haven't seen Faye pick up a single cigarette in her apartment...Her rooms don't seem to have the lingering scent of nicotine either and I wonder if this is one of those no indoor smoking properties...

I already have enough on my mind, to think about such things, I don't want to waste my energy on them. So instead of trying to figure it out or be scolded by Faye later, I step outside, carrying with me my communicator, the pack of cigarettes, and the lighter.

It's cold.

The cement has considerably chilled since the morning and I'm unable to advance much without putting on my shoes. I walk towards the rail and look out into the patio of the building. From here, I can see the streets for quite a distance.

While I stare out at the neighborhood, a gust of wind rushes by. The ashes of my cigarette get carried out into the open and my stomach becomes exposed, making what little body heat I have left disappear quickly. I pull my shirt down hurriedly, but my skin is already crawling. I shiver a bit, holding my arms crossed over my chest.

This weather. I wonder why Jet is so worried about it?

I unlock the screen of my communicator and notice three missed calls, all from Jet. I select the latest missed and click return. I hold the communicator to my ear, keeping my arms as close to my body as possible. It only rings twice before Jet picks up.

"Before you say anything," he says, "I don't have any underhanded intentions by having you stay with Faye for a while."

I click my tongue. "I hadn't even thought about it. Now that you've said it, I'm suspicious."

"No, I'm serious," He insists. "Though I'm also surprised since you're the one to notice these things first…Well, that aside, with the weather as it is, it can't be helped that you stay anyway."

"But the way things are here, I think it'll be fine for me to go back as long as I take off soon—"

"—Don't."

"Didn't you reject me too quickly just now?" I ask and take a drag from my cigarette. "It's even more suspicious now."

"Just drop that already," Jet snaps. "We were evacuated from the dock."

"What?"

"Haven't you heard? The front's trajectory changed last night."

"…Oh, that." But I've been so distracted that the weather has been the least of my concerns.

"I had to secure the Bebop and leave the dock early this morning. They wouldn't let anyone take off or land, so the majority of us are being kept in a shelter...Well, what I'm saying is, just stay where you are for now."

I don't respond.

"Are you alright?" Jet asks. But there's a particular way that he manipulates his intonation and I'm unable to hide it from him.

"No, not really," I stutter and chuckle a bit too nervously for my liking.

"You'll be fine."

"I'm…not so sure about that…" I keep quiet, contemplating just what it is I want to say. "Jet," I begin, "I just...I don't know anymore."

I hear him sigh on the other end of the line.

"Then, stop trying to figure it out by yourself." He pauses. "I get that it's hard for you to do... I'm sure it's hard for everyone. But nothing's going to get cleared up if you don't deal with it upfront."

I really feel like I'm being scolded. "...That's much easier said than done..."

"Of course it is!" Jet admits, "But Faye's at least tried to show you she cared. Why do you think she kept watch over you when you did something stupid and wound up hurt? How about doing everything but literally holding you down so you wouldn't go to someone else? That's not some sort of hobby you know."

I knew Jet was aware, but I didn't expect for him to bring it up like this. "...That's—"

"—It was hard for her," he interrupts. "When you two met again. She was having a hard time so she talked to me about it. And, Spike, she cried because she was so angry, saying she was stupid for having done that much."

I can't say a thing.

Jet calms down a bit. "It made me uneasy when she started seeing Damian...Because I knew that much... But you had flat-out rejected her by then, so it's not like she had any other choice but to move on. And…even if it didn't start out that way, I honestly do believe she did love Damian—or loves Damian...I don't know about that."

I swallow. If I ever had a shred of confidence, all of it is gone now.

"Faye'll kill me if she finds out I told you. But I'm at the point where I want to lock you up together and not let you out until things are cleared up...That's a pain to do though, so I'll have to settle with saying this much."

"I…" But I don't have the words. "…That is…" And I have to seriously think about it in silence before I can properly reply. I grimace, for the first time becoming aware, "After all that...Do I have the right to—"

"—What right!" Jet blurts before I can finish. "What happened is already in the past, so don't keep holding on to it. Didn't you learn that already?"

I don't make a sound.

"Listen," he says a bit more calmly, "I'm saying you can do whatever the hell you please. Do you understand that?"

I smirk. "...You can say some pretty fatherly things sometimes."

"Fatherly?" Jet sounds offended. "Older brothers exist too you know.—Ah. They're handing out dinner now. I better get in line before they run out."

"Alright. Take care of yourself."

"Who's saying fatherly things now?" Jet says mockingly and hangs up.

I put the communicator back in my pocket. Somehow, the call has left me exhausted. My muscles have tensed up and I can't get my body to relax. I sigh and light up another cigarette. I lean forward on the rail and look around the streets.

I can do whatever I want, huh?

* * *

><p><strong>* * * Ch. 13 End, Continued in Chapter 14 ** *<strong>

I really appreciate your patience and support. I know it's been a while, and perhaps you're bored of hearing this, but I promise this story will not be dropped. Please look forward to the next chapter!

Until later,

_NonMetallicMetal_


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